Remembrance

“And that is all I know, Major.…” Marcella dissolved in tears again and clung to the sympathetic young American. “Why did she go? Perché? Non capisco …noncapisco…. ”All he could do was comfort her. How could he explain any of it to Marcella? He couldn't. He would have to live with that hell himself.

“Marcella, listen to me.” The old woman only sobbed more loudly. “Shh … listen.… I promise you. I'll find her. Domani vado a trovarla.”

“Ma dove?” But where? It was a hopeless wail. All those years of not seeing Serena, and now she was back and Marcella had lost her again.

“Non so dove, Marcella. I don't know where. But I'll find her.” And then he squeezed the old shoulders and went quietly back to his own rooms. He sat in the darkness for what seemed like hours, thinking, turning things over in his mind, remembering snatches of conversation he had had with her. But no matter how deep he dug, how far into the memories, he came up blank. She had no one now except Marcella, and he realized once again how devastated she must have been to leave the old woman and the only home she had. A shaft of guilt shot through him again as he remembered the argument he had had with Pattie. He thought of what it must have sounded like at a distance, of what Serena must have thought, watching them, seeing them together, and then listening to the American woman's angry words.

After hours of painful, endless questions running around and around in his mind he gave up. There was nothing to do except wait—and wait. He went into his bedroom and stood for a long moment, staring at the bed. Tonight he had no desire to sleep beneath the blue satin of the canopy. The bed would seem painfully empty without the woman that he loved. And what if you don't find her? he asked himself. Then I'll keep looking. He'd find her if he had to comb all of Italy and Switzerland and France. He'd go back to the States. He'd do anything, and eventually he would find her, and he would tell her that he loved her and ask her to be his wife. He was entirely sure of his feelings as he lay there, and not a single thought of Pattie crossed his mind as he whiled away the hours, lying there, thinking of Serena, and wondering again and again where she could have gone.

It was only when a cock crowed in the distance at five thirty, that he suddenly shot up in bed with a look of amazement and stared out the window. “Oh, my God!” How could he have forgotten? It should have been the first place he thought of. With lightning speed he threw back the covers, ran into the bathroom, showered, shaved, and by ten minutes before six he was dressed. He left a note for his secretary and his assistants, explaining that he had been called away on a matter that was urgent, and for his secretary he left an additional note asking him to be kind enough to “cover his ass.” He left all the memos where they would see them, and then slipped on a heavy jacket and hurried downstairs. He had to speak to Marcella, and he was relieved to see a light under her door when he got downstairs. He knocked softly twice and a moment later the old woman opened the door to him, at first with a look of astonishment to see him there, and then one of confusion when she saw that he was in civilian garb and not the uniform she was used to seeing him in every day.

“Yes?” She still looked startled as she stepped back for him to enter, but he shook his head and smiled with a warm look in his deep gray eyes.

“Marcella, I think I may know where to find her. But I need your help. The farm in Umbria … can you tell me how to get there?” Marcella looked more startled still for a long moment and then she nodded, frowning, thoughtful. She looked into his eyes again, with a hopeful gleam in her own.

She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering, and then brought him a pencil and a piece of paper, and waved him to a chair. “You write it down like I tell you.” He was only too happy to obey her orders, and a few minutes later he was out the door with the paper in his hand. He waved to her one last time as he ran toward the little shed where he kept the jeep he used when he didn't have a driver, and she watched him as he drove away, with tears of hope in her old eyes.

The trip from Rome to Umbría was long and arduous, the roads were poor, deeply rutted, and crowded with military vehicles, foot traffic, and carts filled with chickens, or hay, or fruit. It was here that one remembered that there had been a war on not so very long ago. One still saw signs of the damage everywhere, and there were times when B.J. thought that neither he nor the jeep would survive. He had brought with him all of his military papers, and had the jeep collapsed beneath him, he would have commandeered anything he had to, to reach the farm.

As it was, it was after dark when he got there, traveling down the uninhabited, rutted road in the direction that Marcella had described to him, but he began to wonder in a few moments if he had taken the wrong turn. Nothing looked familiar according to the directions, and he stopped the car in the darkness. It didn't help him that there was even no moon by which to travel, and there were dark clouds passing through the sky as he looked up and then at the horizon beyond. But as he did so, he suddenly saw a cluster of buildings in the distance, huddling together as though for warmth, and he realized with a long tired sigh that he had found the farm.

He turned the jeep back until he found a narrow, rutted lane, and followed it through overgrown bushes in the direction of the building he had seen on the horizon, and a few moments later, splashing through deep potholes, he reached what must have once been a large courtyard, or a kind of main square. There was a large house facing him, barns stretching out toward the right, and an orchard both to the left and behind him. Even in the darkness he could see that it was a large place, that it was deserted. The house looked weather-beaten and empty, the doors of the barns had fallen off their hinges, there was grass growing waist high between the cobblestones in the courtyard, and what farm equipment there had once been stood rusting and broken in the orchard, which obviously had not been tended for years. He stood there for a long moment, wondering where to go now. Back to Rome? Into a village? To a nearby farm? But there were none. There was nothing here, and no one, and surely not Serena. Even if she had come here to find refuge, she could not stay here. He stared sadly at the barns in the darkness, and then at the house, but as he did so, he thought he saw something scurry into the darkness of a corner. An animal? A cat? A dream? Or perhaps someone very frightened at his intrusion. Realizing how mad he was to have come on this solitary adventure, he kept his eyes in the direction of what he had seen, and walked slowly backward toward the jeep. When he reached it, he leaned inside, and took out his pistol, he cocked it and then began to walk forward, wielding an unlit flashlight in his other hand. He was almost certain now of where he had seen the movement, and he could see a form huddled in a corner, crouched behind a bush. For an instant he realized how insane it was that he should be pursuing this encounter, that he might perhaps die, for no reason at all, on a deserted farm in the Italian countryside in search of a woman, six months after the end of the war. After all he had survived in the years before that, it seemed ironic that he could die now, he thought as he inched his way forward along the building, his heart racing.

When he had come within a dozen feet of where he had seen the movement, he pressed himself into a narrow nook, took what refuge he could find, and instantly shot one arm forward with the flashlight held aloft. He switched it on, and set it down, poised at the same instant with his gun, and like his victim's, his eyes blinked for a moment in the sudden light, as he realized with terror that it was not a cat at all. It was someone hunched over and hiding, a dark cap pulled low over his brow, hands held aloft.

“Come out of there! I'm with the American army!” He felt a little foolish saying the words, but he hadn't been sure what else to say, and the form, a tall angular shape in the dark blue wool, moved forward and stood staring at him now, as he gave a whoop and then grinned. It was Serena. She stood wide eyed, her face white with terror and then with astonishment as he approached. “Come here, damn you! I told you to come out of there!” But B.J. didn't wait for her to move, he ran toward her, and before she could say a word, he had enfolded her in his arms. “Goddamn crazy girl, I could have shot you.”

The green eyes were wide and brilliant in the glare of the flashlight as she looked up at him, still dumbfounded by what had happened. “How did you find me?”

He looked down at her and kissed her gently on both eyes, and then her lips. “I don't know. It came to me this morning, and Marcella gave me directions.” He frowned at her then. “You shouldn't have done it, Serena. You had us all worried sick.”

She shook her head slowly then and pulled away from him. “I had to. I couldn't be there any longer.”

“You could have waited to talk it over.” He held her hand although she stood a few feet from him now, her foot pushing a small stone on the ground.

“There is nothing to talk over. Is there?” She looked into his eyes, with all the hurt that had driven her from Rome. “I heard what she said, about me, about your family. She's right. I'm only your Italian whore … a maid.…” She didn't even flinch as she said it, and he pressed her hand.

“She's a bitch, Serena. I know that now. I didn't see things as clearly before. And what she said is not true. She was jealous, that was all.”

“Did you tell her about us?”

“I didn't have to.” He smiled gently at her, and they stood for a long time in the silence and the darkness. There was something eerie about being at the deserted farm alone. “This place must have been quite something before.”

“It was.” She smiled at him. “I loved it. It was a perfect place to be a child. There were cows and pigs and horses, lots of friendly workers in the fields, fruit in the orchards, a place to swim nearby. My best childhood memories are of here.”

“I know. I remember.” They exchanged a speaking look and Serena sighed. She still couldn't believe that he had found her. Things like that didn't happen in real life. They only happened in books and movies, but there they were, a million miles from civilization, together, and alone.

“Won't she be very angry that you left Rome?” Serena looked at him curiously and he shook his head slowly.

“No angrier than she was when I broke our engagement.”

Serena looked shocked. “Why did you do that, Brad?” In fact, she looked almost angry. “Because of me?”

“Because of me. When I saw her, I knew what I felt about her.” He shook his head again. “Nothing. Or damn close to it. I felt fear. She's a very scary young woman, manipulative and scheming. She wanted me for something. I'm not sure what, but when I listened to her, I knew it. She wanted me to be a puppet, I think, to go into politics like her father and mine, to make her something, and to play her game. There is something incredibly empty about her, Serena. And when I saw her, I had all the answers that I'd been struggling for, for months. They were all there all along, I just didn't know it. And then she saw me look at you, and she knew it too. That was when you heard her.” Serena watched him as he talked and then nodded.

“She was very angry, Brad. I was frightened for you.” She looked very young as she stood in front of him in the courtyard. “I was afraid.…” She closed her eyes briefly. “I had to run …I thought that if I disappeared it would make things simpler for you. …” Her voice trailed off and he reached out his arms again.

“Have I told you lately that I love you?” She smiled in the darkness and nodded.

“I think that was what you meant when you came here.” She looked at him pensively then and tilted her head to one side. “It is over with her, then?”

He nodded, and then smiled. “And now it can begin in earnest with us.”

“It already has begun.” She reached out her arms for him, and he stroked her hair with a gentle hand.

“I want to marry you, Serena. You know that, don't you?” But quietly she shook her head.

“No.” It was a simple word, and he looked down at her with a smile.

“Does that mean that you don't know it?”

“No.” She looked up at him again. “It means that I love you with all my heart and I will not marry you. Never.” She sounded resolute and he looked at her in dismay.

“Why in hell not?”

“Because it would be wrong. I have nothing to give you, except my heart. And you need a woman like her, of your world, of your own kind, your class, of your country, someone who knows your ways, someone who can help you if you ever do decide to go into politics one day. I will only hurt you, if that's what you want later on. The Italian war bride…the maid.…” Pattie's words still rang in her ears. “The Italian whore … others will call me mat too.”

“The hell they will. Serena, aren't you forgetting who you are?”

“Not at all. You're remembering what I was. I am not that anymore. You heard what Pattie said.”

“Stop that!” He took her by both shoulders and shook her gently. “You're my principessa.”

“No.” Her eyes never wavered from his. “I'm your upstairs maid.”

He pulled her into his arms then, wondering how he could convince her, what he could say. “I love you, Serena. I respect everything that you are. I'm proud of you, dammit. Won't you let me make my own decisions about what's right for me?”

“No.” She smiled up at him with a look of sorrow mingled with love.

“You don't know what you're doing. So I won't let you do it.”

“Do you think we could argue about it later?” He looked down at her with a grin, sure that eventually he would convince her, but he had suddenly realized that he had been driving for hours and he was exhausted. “Is there anywhere for us to stay? Or have you decided not to sleep with me anymore either?”

“The answer is no to both questions.” She grinned at him sheeplishly. “There's nowhere for miles. I was going to sleep in Üre barn.”

“Did you have anything to eat today?” He looked at her worriedly and she shook her head.

“Not really. I brought some cheese and some salami, but I finished it this morning. I was going to walk into town tomorrow and go to the market. But I was awfully hungry tonight.”

“Come on.” He put an arm around her shoulders and walked her slowly back to the car. He pulled open the door, helped her up into the seat, and pulled out the knapsack in which he had put half a dozen sandwiches as a last-minute thought before he left. There were also apples and a piece of cake, and a bar of chocolate.

“What? No silk stockings?” She grinned at him over the sandwich she was devouring.

“You only get those if you marry me.”

“Oh.” She shrugged, leaning back against the seat. “Then I guess I don't get any silk stockings. Only chocolate.”

“Christ, you're stubborn.”

“Yes.” She nodded proudly and he grinned.

They slept in the jeep that night, their arms cast easily over each other, their legs cramped, but their hearts light. He had found her, all was well, and before she fell asleep, she had agreed to come home to Rome with him. And when the sun came up, they each ate an apple, washed at the well, and she showed him the farm she had loved as a child, when life had been so very different. And as he kissed her in front of the old barn, he promised himself that whatever it took, he would convince her and one day she would be his for good.

11

When Serena returned to Rome the next day, Marcella was already sleeping. She left her suitcase in the little hall to let her know she was back, and then tiptoed upstairs with B.J. to the familiar bed. They made love as they hadn't dared to on the road, and Serena rejoiced to be back in his arms again. The pictures of Pattie were gone for good, and she felt free and happy to be alive. The next morning Marcella gave her hell for running away, and berated her at the top of her lungs for almost two hours, threatening to box her ears, shouting, insulting, and then finally bursting into tears as she clung to Serena and begged her never to go away again.

“I won't. I promise you, Celia. I'll be here forever.”

“Not forever.” She looked at Serena cryptically. “But for as long as you should be here.”

“I should be here forever,” Serena said calmly. “At least in Rome, this is my home.” She had long since abandoned all thought of returning to the States.

“Maybe not for always.” Marcella looked at her again.

“I don't know what you're talking about, and I don't think I want to hear it.” Serena turned away to make a pot of coffee. She knew exactly what Marcella meant.

“He loves you, Serena.” The voice was old and wise, and Serena wheeled to face her.

“I love him too. Enough not to destroy his life. He broke off his engagement with that American girl. He seems to think he had good reason to do it, and maybe he was right. But I will never marry him, Celia. Never. It would be wrong. And it would ruin his life. His family is very important to him, and they would hate me. They wouldn't understand anything about me. So, no matter what he tells you, or what you think, the answer is never, Marcella. I've told it to him, and I'm telling it to you. I want you to understand that. You have to accept it, just as I do, and I have accepted it, so I think you can too.”

“You're crazy, Serena. His parents would be lucky to have you.”

“I'm sure they wouldn't think so.” She could still hear Pattie's words. She handed Marcella her coffee and went back to her own little cubicle to unpack.

After that, life was peaceful all the way through November. She and Brad were happier than they had ever been, Marcella settled down, and it was as though nothing could ever go wrong with the world. She and Brad shared a private Thanksgiving dinner. He taught her how to make a turkey and stuff it. He had commandeered some chestnuts, and some desperately rare cranberry jelly, and Marcella made sweet potatoes and peas and creamed onions for them, and together they had a rare feast. It was Serena's first Thanksgiving dinner.

“To the first of many.” He toasted her happily with a glass of white wine with their dinner, while secretly she knew that this would be her last. Within the year he would surely be transferred home, and moments like this would not come again. Now and then she thought of that time and wished that she would become pregnant, but Brad was determinedly careful that nothing like that would happen, so Serena knew that when B.J. left Rome, that would be the end of it. There would be no Brad, no baby to remember him by, only memories like this one to keep her warm.

“What were you thinking about just then?” he asked her as they lay in front of the fire and he watched the brilliant emerald eyes.

“You.”

“What about me?”

“That I love you.” … And I'll miss you unbearably when you're gone.… She never said it, but the thoughts were always there.

“If you really loved me,” he began to tease and wheedle and she grinned, “you'd marry me.” It was a game they often played, but he knew he had months to convince her, at least he thought so, until the next day.

He sat at his desk, the envelope on the floor, staring at his orders, and fighting back a strong desire to cry. The idyll in Rome was over. He was being transferred. In seven days.

“You can't be.” Her face had gone pale, just as his had when he read it. “So quickly? I thought they always gave a month's notice.”

“Not always. Not this time. I leave for Paris a week from today.” At least it was only Paris. He could come back to see her. She could come to see him. But it wasn't all that easy, and they wouldn't have the normal routine of their life anymore, their nights in the big canopied bed, the early mornings together, the constant looks and glances throughout the day, and the stolen moments when he came to her quarters after lunch just for a kiss, for a word, for a hello, a joke, just to see her and feel her and hear her … they would have none of that, and as he thought of it he wondered how he would live. He looked at her frankly and asked her for the ten thousandth time. “Will you marry me and come with me?” Slowly she shook her head.

“I can't marry you and you know why.”

“Even now?”

“Even now.” She tried to smile bravely at him. “Couldn't you just take me along as your personal maid?” He looked angry as she said it and he shook his head as though to shake off what she had just said.

“That's not even funny. I'm serious, Serena. For chrissake, realize what's happening. It's all over for us. I'm leaving. I'm going to Paris a week from today, and God knows where after that, probably back to the States. And I can't take you with me unless we're married. Will you please come to your senses and marry me so we don't lose the one thing we both care about?”

“I can't do it.” There was a lump in her throat the size of a fist as she said it, and that night after he fell asleep in her arms she cried for hours on her side of the bed. She had to let him go, for his sake. She knew that she had to, if she really loved him, and she did, but she knew that it would be the hardest task of her life to peel her heart from his. She steeled herself for it daily, but when the last night came, she felt such a terror in her heart at the thought of losing him that she didn't know if she could bear it. For days Marcella had been hounding her, tormenting her, pleading with her, begging, and in his own way B.J. had been doing the same, but Serena was so certain that to marry him would ruin his life that she was unwilling to listen. She knew what she had to do, and however unbearable it was, she would do it, even if she died when he left, it wouldn't matter then. She had nothing left to live for anyway. There would never be a man that she loved as she loved B.J. And knowing that on the last night made it all the more bittersweet as she held him and stroked him, and smoothed a gentle hand across his hair, wanting to engrave the moment forever in her memory, as a way of holding on to him.

“Serena?” She had thought he was sleeping, but his voice was a whisper in the canopied bed and she leaned forward to see his face.

“Yes, my love?”

“I love you so much … I will always love you … I could never love anyone else like I love you.”

“Nor I, Brad.”

“Will you write to me?” There were tears in his eyes as he asked her. He had finally accepted that he was going to leave Rome alone.

“Of course I will. Always.” Always. Forever. The promises of a lifetime, which she knew only too well would dim in time. One day he would marry and he would forget, he would want to forget then, and it would finally be over between them. But she knew that for her it would never be over. She would never forget him. “Will you write to me?” There were tears in her eyes. There always was the threat of tears this past week, for both of them.

“Of course I will. But I'd rather take you with me.”

“In your pocket perhaps, or a secret compartment, or a suitcase. …” She smiled down at him and kissed the end of his nose. “Paris is so pretty, you're going to love it.”

“You're coming to visit in two weeks, aren't you? I ought to be able to get the papers for you as soon as I get there.” She was going to spend a weekend with him in his quarters if it could be arranged, and he had made her promise that she would come often, as often as she could. And he had told her to bring Marcella. He didn't want her traveling alone on the train. But it would be impossible for both of them to leave together, she reminded him. One of them had to stay behind and work at the palazzo. He had nodded then. For Brad the past week had sped by in a fog, and by the morning of his departure he felt drained. He sat up in bed before sunrise, and looked at Serena, lying in the canopied bed, beneath a vast fan of her silky blond hair. He touched her hair and her face, and her arms and her breasts, and then gently he woke her, and they made love again, and as he held her close to him in their bed he realized that he had just made love to her for the last time in Rome. In two hours he would be leaving, and all they would have left were the occasional weekends they would share in Paris, before he would eventually be shipped back to the States. As he held her close to him she felt him swell and hunger for her again and gently she touched him, at first with her fingers, and then with her deft tongue. She had learned a great deal with Brad in their bed of love, but most of it had come from her heart, or from instinct, as she sought to bring him pleasure and to give herself to him in every possible way. And so one last time he moaned softly and ached with the pleasure of her touch, of her kiss, of their longing for each other, and he pulled himself from her mouth and entered her again. It was she who realized then what had happened, and hoped that his last gift to her would be a son.

But neither of them were thinking of anything but each other as they met for a last time in his office an hour later, and he held her and kissed her once more, as they looked out into the bleak garden and remembered how it had looked in the summer and fall. And then, gently, he turned her face toward his and kissed her for the last time.

“You'll come in two weeks?”

“I'll come.” But they both knew that it wasn't sure.

“If not, I'll fly back to Rome.” And then what? An abyss of loneliness for both of them over the years. She had condemned them to a difficult loss with her staunch principles about not being good enough for him to marry. And he couldn't help trying again. “Serena … please … will you reconsider … please … let's get married.” But she only shook her head, unable to speak at the pain of seeing him go, her face washed with tears. “Oh, God, how I love you.”

“I love you too.” It was all she could say before the orderlies came to get him, and after he left the room, she let out an almost animal moan as she steadied herself against the wall and stared out into the garden. In a few minutes he would be gone … she would have lost him forever … the thought was almost more than she could bear, and she ran breathlessly down to the garden near where she and Marcella lived. She knew he would see her there as he drove away, and that way she wouldn't have to stand with the others, and only Brad and his driver would see her face contorted in sadness. As it was, when he drove past, she saw that he was crying too, his face somber and pale at the window of the car, and his face wet with silent tears as the driver pressed relentlessly forward. And then, all she saw was a face at the rear window, until finally the car that bore him, away disappeared.

She walked slowly inside then, with a look of glazed pain, and walked straight into her room and closed the door. Marcella said nothing at all to her. It was too late for reproach. She had made her decision and now she would live by it, if it killed her. And after two days of her lying there, Marcella feared that it would. By the third day Marcella was truly frightened. Serena refused to get up, wouldn't eat, never seemed to sleep. She just lay there, crying silently and staring at the ceiling. She didn't even get out of her bed the one time that he called and the orderly came to tell Marcella. She was beginning to panic and the next day she went to the orderly herself.

“I have to call the major,” she announced firmly, trying to make it look as though it were official business, as she stood in the secretary's office in a clean apron with a freshly pressed scarf on her head.

“Major Appleby?” The secretary looked surprised. The new major wasn't due until the next morning. Maybe the old woman wanted to quit. They were all beginning to wonder if her niece would. No one had seen Serena since Major Fullerton had left.

“No. I want to call Major Fullerton in Paris. I will pay for it myself. But you must make the call and I wish to speak to him in private.”

“I'll see what I can do.” The secretary glanced at the indomitable old woman and promised that he would do his best. “I'll come and get you, if I get him on the line.” As it happened, luck was with him and he got hold of B.J. less than an hour later, sitting bleakly in his new office, wondering why Serena wouldn't take his call. He didn't have good news for her anyway. Her traveling papers for a weekend in Paris had been denied. There had been some vague hint about fraternization being frowned on, and it was deemed “wisest to leave one's indiscretions behind.” He had burned angrily when he had got word, and now he knew he had to tell her. All he could offer was to come back to Rome in a few weeks, when he could get away, but he had no idea yet as to when. He was sitting staring out into the Paris rain on the Place du Palais-Bourbon in the Seventh Arrondissement, when the call came in from his old secretary in Rome, and he gave a little start and smiled to hear a familiar voice. “I'm calling for Marcella, Major. She said it was important and private. I've just sent someone to fetch her. You'll have to hang on for a minute, if that's all right with you.”

“It's fine.” But he was suddenly very frightened. What if something had happened? Serena could have had an accident, or she could have run off to that godforsaken farm again, and this time he wasn't there to go and get her, she could fall in the well, she could break her leg, she could.… “Is everything all right there, Palmers?” He spoke to his secretary with concern and the junior man smiled.

“Fine, sir.”

“Everyone still on board?” He was asking about Serena but didn't quite dare say her name.

“Pretty much. We haven't seen much of Marcella's niece, in fact we haven't seen her since you left, sir, but Marcella says she's sick and she'll be fine in a few days.” Oh, Christ. It could have meant anything, but before Brad could give much thought to his worst fears, the secretary spoke again. “Here's Marcella now, sir. Think you can manage with her English, or do you want someone on an extension to help?”

“No, we'll manage on our own, thanks.” B.J. found himself wondering how many of them knew. No matter how discreet he and Serena had been, somehow those things always got around. It had certainly got to Paris. “Thanks, Palmers, good to talk to you.”

“And to you, sir. Here she is.”

“Maggiore?” The old woman's voice came to him like a breath of fresh air.

“Yes, Marcella. Is everything all right? Serena?” In answer to his question he was pelted with a hailstorm of rapid Italian, almost none of which he understood, except the words eating and sleeping, but he wasn't sure who was eating and sleeping and why Marcella was so concerned. “Wait a minute! Hang on! Piano! Piano! Slowly! Non capisco. Is it Serena?”

“St.”

“Is she sick?” He was assaulted with more rapid-fire Italian, and once again begged the old woman to slow down. This time she did.

“She ate nothing, she drank nothing, she neither slept nor got up. She just cried and cried and cried and …” Now it was Marcella who began to cry. “She is going to die, Maggiore. I know it. I saw my own mother die the same way.”

“She's nineteen years old, Marcella. She is not going to die.” I won't let her, he thought to himself. “Have you tried to get her up?”

“Si. Ogni ora. Every hour. But she doesn't get up. She doesn't listen. She does nothing. She is sick.”

“Have you called the doctor?”

“She's not sick like that. She is sick for you, Maggiore.” He was sick for her, and the damn crazy girl had refused to marry him because of her silly notions of protecting him, and now they were up the creek. “What can we do?”

He narrowed his eyes and stared out at the December rain. “Get her to the phone. I want to talk to her.”

“She no come.” Marcella looked more worried again. “Yesterday when you call, she no come.”

“Tonight when I call, you get her to the phone, Marcella, if you have to drag her.” He silently cursed the fact that there was no phone in the servants' rooms. “I want to talk to her.”

“Ecco. Va bene.”

“Can you do it?”

“I do it. You go to Umbría to find her, now I got to bring her to the phone. Facciamo miracoli insieme.” She grinned in her half-toothless smile. She had just told him that they made miracles together. And it was going to take a miracle to get Serena out of her bed.

“See if you can't get her up for a few minutes first. Otherwise she'll be too weak. Wait a minute.” He thought for a moment. “I have an idea. There's no one in the guest bedroom right now, is there?” Marcella thought for a minute and shook her head.

“Nessuno, Maggiore.” No one.

“Good. I'll take care of everything.”

“You're going to put her in there?” Marcella sounded stunned. Whatever her lineage and her title, Serena was after all just an employee now at the palazzo, and a lowly one at that. No matter that she had been occupying the major's bed for all these months, that was different from moving her into one of the guest rooms, like a VIP guest. Marcella was afraid there might be trouble.

“I'm going to put her in there, Marcella, whether she likes it or not. Get me Palmers. I'm going to have him carry her up there as soon as you get her ready. And an hour from now”—he looked at his watch—”I'll put through a call.”

“What will I tell Sergeant Palmers?”

“I'll tell him, we can say that she is very ill and we're afraid of pneumonia, that it's too damp for her where you are, and I'm ordering all of you to bring her upstairs.”

“What do we do when the new Maggiore arrives?”

“Marcella …” He didn't dare say what he was thinking. “Never mind that. Get Palmers, I want to talk to him now. You go to Serena and get her ready.”

“Yes, Maggiore.” Marcella blew him a kiss. “I love you, Maggiore. If she won't marry you, I will.”

He chuckled at his end. “Marcella, you're on.”

Just as he had known once he had seen Pattie that he knew what he wanted to do, now he knew also that all along Serena had been wrong. She was not only wrong for him, she was wrong for herself, and he wasn't going to let her do this to either of them. As he gave his orders to Palmers he was aware of an iron resolve. And if he couldn't talk sense into her over the phone, he was going to Rome. He'd go AWOL if he had to, and talk his way out of it when he got back. But before he did anything that drastic, he spoke to the military operator an hour later and had her place the call to Rome. He had already arranged with Palmers for the phone to be pulled into the guest room, and when it rang, first Palmers answered, then Marcella, then he could hear sounds of movement, of shuffling noises, muted voices, a door closing, and then in barely more than a whisper he heard her thready little voice.

“Brad? What is this? What happened? They carried me out of my room.”

“Good. That's what I told them to do. Now I want you to listen to me, Serena. And I'm not going to listen to you anymore. I love you. I want you to marry me. What you've done is killing us both. You're willing yourself to die, and I feel as though I died when I left Rome. This is crazy … crazy, do you hear me? I love you. Now, for chrissake, woman, will you come to your senses and come to Paris to get married or do I have to come back there and drag you out?”

She laughed softly in answer and then there was a silence, as he could almost see her weigh her thoughts. What he could not see in the silence was Serena lying back against her pillows, with tears streaming from her eyes, her hands trembling as she held the phone, fighting herself to keep from saying what she wanted, and then suddenly in a great burst of effort, she spoke up. “Yes!” It was still only a whisper and he wasn't sure he'd heard her.

“What did you say?” He held his breath.

“I said I'd marry you, Major.”

“Damn right!” He tried to sound arrogant as he said it, but his hands were trembling harder than hers, and there was a lump in his throat so large, he could barely talk. “I'll get the papers going right away, darling, and we'll get you here as soon as we can.” My God! My God, he thought to himself, she said yes! She said it! He wanted to ask her if she meant it, but he didn't dare. He wasn't going to give her a chance to reconsider. Not now. “I love you, darling, with all my heart.”

12

The morning that Serena left Rome she stood in the garden for a long time, under her willow tree, pulling her jacket tightly around her. The sun had just come up and it was still cold, as she looked out into the distance at the hills, and then back at the white marble facade that she was leaving now for the second time. She remembered the last time she had left here, with her grandmother, to go to Venice. That time the plans had been made in a hurry, and the atmosphere had been frightening and grim. She had just lost her parents, and as she had hurried down the marble steps on the way out, she had wondered if she would ever see her home again. Now she found herself wondering the same thing as she stood there, but the atmosphere surrounding her departure was different this time. She was going to be married, and this time she felt ready to leave. After all, the palazzo was no longer hers and never would be again, it was pointless to pretend that this was really still her home. Only the tiny quarters she shared with Marcella were really theirs, and even those rooms were only on loan as long as she continued to dust and sweep and wax floors. She sighed gently to herself as she looked up at what had been B.J.'s office, her old windows, and then her eyes drifted to the balcony outside her mother's bedroom, the room she had shared with him.

“Addio….” It was a whisper in the wind as she stood there. Not arrivederci or arrivederla, until I see you again, but Addio … good-bye.

The final moments as she left the house were frantic and painful, a last hug from a crying Marcella, as they both laughed through their tears. Marcella had turned down Serena's proposal that she accompany her to Paris. Rome was the kind old woman's home and she knew her princess was now well taken care of. Serena promised to write to her often, and knew that someone would read her the letters, and if B.J. could arrange it, she would call. And moments later she was being whisked down the driveway, then passing familiar sights on the way to Termini Station, from where she would leave Rome. She caught a quick glimpse of the Fontana di Trevi, the Spanish Steps, the Piazza Navona, and then she was there in the bustle of people hurrying to catch trains, carrying suitcases and packages, looking hopeful, or tired, or excited like Serena, who suddenly looked terribly young as she took her suitcase from the orderly who had brought her to the station, and then stuck out her hand to shake his before she boarded the train.

“Thank you. Grazie mille.” She was beaming at him. The tears she had shed with Marcella were long gone, and all she could think of now was B.J. She felt not as though she were leaving, but as though she were going home.

“Good-bye …” she whispered softly to herself as the train picked up speed, and she saw the familiar outline of her city begin to fade in the distance. There were no tears in her eyes this time, all she could think of now was Paris and what awaited her there.

They arrived in Paris just after noon. As they approached the city she saw the Eiffel Tower in the distance, and assorted monuments she knew nothing about and then slowly the train drew into the Gare de Lyon, and as it rolled slowly the last feet into the station, Serena stood up and pressed her face against the window, peering into the distance to see if she could find B.J. waiting for the train. There were small clusters of people waiting, but nowhere could she see him, and she began to worry that she wouldn't find him at all. It was a big station and she felt suddenly very much alone. She picked up her suitcase as the train came to a full stop, and reached for the little basket Marcella had put her provisions in, and then slowly she filed out of the compartment with the others and stepped hesitantly off the train. Once again she looked around, her eyes combing the long platform and the unfamiliar faces as her heart pounded madly within her. She knew that he couldn't have forgotten her, and she knew where to find him if for some reason they missed each other at the station, but nonetheless now the full excitement of it was upon her. She was in Paris, and she had come to meet B.J., to get married. As she stood there she knew that a whole new life for her had begun.

“Think he forgot you?” A young GI she had talked to on the train the night before looked down at her with a friendly grin, and just as Serena shook her head she saw the young GI snap to attention and salute someone just behind her. And as though she sensed him near her, she wheeled to face B.J., her eyes wide, her face filled with excitement, her throat choked with a gurgle of laughter, and before she could say anything at all, Major Bradford Jarvis Fullerton had taken her in his arms and lifted her right off the ground. The young American disappeared behind them, with a shrug of his shoulders and a smile.

13

Paris had put on all her prettiest colors for Serena that morning, a bright blue sky overhead, crisp greens here and there as they drove past pine trees, the monuments were the same familiar streaky gray they had been for hundreds of years but here and there were facades of white marble and gold leaf, and rich patinas, and everywhere the people looked happy and excited in knit caps and red scarves, their faces pink with the chill air, their eyes bright. It was almost Christmas, and however much confusion there still was in Paris, it was the first Christmas in peacetime, the first time in six years that the Parisians could truly celebrate with joy.

Hand in hand, as they rode in B.J.'s staff car, they rolled down the broad boulevards and through narrow streets, they passed the Invalides and Notre-Dame, and the extraordinary spectacle of the Place Vendôme, and up the Champs-Elysées, around the Arc de Triomphe, into the maelstrom of traffic around L'étoile, the circular intersection where 12 main streets all met at the Arc de Triomphe and everyone raced madly for the boulevard, where they would exit again, hopefully without crashing into another car. Having safely left the Arc behind them, as Serena, wide-eyed, gazed around her, they drove sedately onto the Avenue Hoche where B.J. was quartered, in an elegant “hôtel particulier,” a town house that looked more like a mansion, which had belonged to the owner of one of France's better known vineyards before the war. In the anguish of the days just before the occupation of Paris, the vineyard owner had decided to join his sister in Geneva, and the house had been left in the care of his servants for the remainder of the war. Eventually the Germans had appropriated it during their stay there, but the officer who had lived there had been a civilized man and the house had suffered no damage during his tenure. And now the vineyard owner had fallen ill, and was not yet ready to return. In the meantime the Americans were renting it from him for a token fee for the year. And B.J. was happily ensconced there, living not quite as grandly as he had at the Palazzo Tibaldo, but very handsomely, with two kindly old French servants who attended to his needs.

As they approached it Serena saw that the house had a handsome garden, and there was a well-tended hedge surrounding it, with a tall, ornate wrought-iron grille that closed it off from the outside. B.J.'s driver stopped the car in front of the gate, and then hurried out to unlock it before driving inside. The car stopped just in front of the house and B.J. turned toward her.

“Well, my love, this is it.”

“It looks lovely.” She beamed at him, not caring one whit about the house, only caring about what she saw in his eyes. And her own eyes seemed to sparkle as he gently kissed her, and then stepped out to lead her inside.

They walked quickly up the steps to another heavy iron door, which was almost instantly opened by a small, round, bald-headed man with twinkling blue eyes and a bright smile, and beside him was an equally small, and jovial-looking woman.

“Monsieur et Madame Lavisse, my fiancée, the Principessa di San Tibaldo.” Serena looked instantly embarrassed by the use of her title, as she held out her hand and they both executed stiff little bows.

“We are happy to meet you.” They smiled at her warmly.

“And I am very happy to meet you.” She glanced just behind them at what she could see of the house. “It looks lovely.” They seemed pleased at the compliment, almost as though the mansion were their own, and they offered immediately to show her around.

“It is not, we regret to say, as it once was,” Pierre apologized as he showed her the rear garden, “but we have done our best to keep it intact for Monsieur le Baron.” Their employer hadn't seen his home in Paris in five years, and it was possible that now ill at seventy-five years of age he would never live to, but faithful to the end, they had kept it for him, and he paid them handsomely for all that they did. Originally he had trustingly left them with a large fund for all their expenses, and now each month a check was sent to them again. In return they had cared for the beautiful home with constant love and attention, hidden the most valuable objects and the best paintings in a secret room beneath the basement, which even the Germans had not found, and now during the reign of the Americans in Paris, they were still tending the house as though it were theirs.

Like the palazzo in Rome, the halls here were of marble, but here the marble was a soft peachy rose. The Louis XV benches, set at regular intervals down the hallway, were trimmed with gilt and upholstered in a pale peach velvet. There were two exquisite paintings by Turner, of rich Venetian sunsets, a large inlaid Louis XV chest with a pink marble slab on top, and several other small exquisite pieces scattered here and there. From the hall one could glimpse the garden, visible through tall French windows, which led out onto the little paved paths bordered by pretty flowers in spring. Now the garden had little to offer, and it was into the main salon that they turned, as Serena stared in awe. The room was done in deep red damask and white velvet, there were heavy Napoleonic pieces, upholstered chaise longues in bold raspberry and cream stripes, and two huge Chinese urns beside a priceless desk. There were huge portraits of members of the baron's family, and a fireplace, large enough for the major to stand in, in which there was now a blazing fire. It was a room designed to cause one to catch one's breath in admiration and wonder, and yet at the same time it was a room that beckoned one to come inside and sit down. Serena glanced around with delight at little Chinese objets d'art, Persian rugs, and a series of smaller portraits by Zorn, of the baron and his sisters as children, and B.J. led the way into a smaller wood-paneled room beyond. Here too there was a roaring fire waiting, but the fireplace was smaller, and three walls of the room were filled with beautifully bound books. Here and there were gaps on the shelves, which Pierre pointed to with dismay. This was the only loss inflicted by the Germans. The officer who had lived there had taken some of the books with him when he left. But Pierre counted himself fortunate that nothing else had been taken. The German had been a man of honor, and had not removed anything else.

On the same floor there was also a beautiful little oval breakfast room that looked out on the garden, and a formal dining room beyond it, with exquisite murals of a Chinese village on the wall. The paper had been preserved since the eighteenth century and had been designed in England originally for the Duke of Yorkshire, but one of the baron's ancestors had bought it directly from the artist and spirited it into France. The furniture had the typical clawed feet and scroll backs of Chippendale, and there was a splendid English sideboard that was waxed to a rich shine. And as Serena passed admiringly through the rooms she was reminded of her grandmother's house in Venice, but this was less sumptuous and yet more so. The Italian palazzi she had lived in had all been larger and showier than this, and yet this house was filled with such exquisite pieces that, even though it was smaller, it seemed somehow more impressive. It was more like a museum and as she wandered through it she marveled to herself and sotto voce to B.J. that they had been able to preserve everything as it was throughout the war. It was also especially touching that the old butler had trusted B.J. enough to bring out some of the really good things.

“The old boy is quite something.” B.J. indicated Pierre in a whisper as they followed the old butler upstairs. Marie-Rose, his wife, had disappeared to the kitchen to get Serena something to eat. “From what he tells me, he had most of this hidden in the basement. And I get the feeling that some of the best pieces are still there.” But he couldn't have hidden the furniture, Serena knew, or not all of it, and it was remarkable that none of the beautiful pieces she saw around her had been damaged or taken over the years.

Upstairs there were four pretty bedrooms. A large handsome master bedroom done in a rich blue satin, with smooth, shining woods everywhere, a handsome chaise longue, a cozy love seat, a small desk, and another fireplace. There was a pretty view of the garden below and a little peek at the rest of Paris, and there was also a small study that B.J. occasionally used as an office, as well as a dressing room, which B.J. told her would be hers. Beyond it was a beautiful bedroom done in pinks, which had belonged to the late baroness, Pierre told them, and two other bedrooms now used for guests, one in a rich green with a handsome painting of the hunt over the fireplace, and a wealth of English prints of the same sport all over the walls. The bedroom beyond it was done in gray, with toile de Jouy on the walls, showing pastoral scenes and shepherds, all in gray on a muted beige fabric that had been applied to the walls. There were handsome brass candelabra, another beautiful desk, and several other fine antique pieces.

“And upstairs is the attic.” Pierre grinned at them both with pleasure. He loved showing off the house.

“It's a wonderful house, Pierre,” Serena said. “I don't know what to say. It's much more beautiful than anything I've seen in Italy, or the States. Don't you think, Brad?” She looked up at B.J. gently, her eyes filled with delight. Pierre thought it made the heart light just to watch them.

“I told you she'd love the house, didn't I?” B.J. nodded and looked at Pierre.

“Yes, sir. And now if you and Mademoiselle would like to come downstairs to the library, I'm sure that Marie-Rose has prepared something for Mademoiselle.” His assumption had been correct, they discovered a moment later as they walked into the library and discovered a plate filled with sandwiches, another covered with small cakes and cookies, and a tall silver jug of hot chocolate waiting for them.

B.J. could hardly wait for Pierre to leave them, which he did a moment later. Brad put his arms around his love and kissed her hungrily the moment she sat down on the couch.

“God, I never thought I'd be alone with you. Oh, baby, how I've missed you.”

“And I you.” For just a flash of an instant the pain of those first days without him flashed into her eyes, and she clung to him for a moment. “I was so afraid, B.J.… that I'd never see you again, that …” She closed her eyes tightly for a moment and then kissed his neck. “I can't believe that I'm here, with you, in this beautiful house … it's all like a dream, and I'm afraid I'll wake up.” She looked around her with a happy smile, and he kissed her again.

“If you do wake up, I'll be beside you. And not only that, by the time you wake up again, you'll be my wife.”

“What?” She looked startled for a moment. “So soon?”

“Why? Did you want time to reconsider?” But the young lieutenant colonel didn't look concerned as he took one of the sandwiches Marie-Rose had made them and sat back against the couch. He had been promoted when he left Rome.

“Don't be silly. I just thought it would take a little longer to organize“ She looked at him in sudden realization, and a mischievous smile began to dance in her eyes. “Does that mean we're getting married today?”

“More of less. Half married, to be more exact.”

“Half married?” She looked vastly amused as she sipped her hot chocolate. “You mean I'm getting married and you're not?”

“Nope, we both are. Over here you have two weddings apparently. One at l'hôtel le ville, like city hall, just for the record, so to speak. And the next day you do a religious service in the church of your choice. You don't really have to do the second, but I sort of thought you'd want to.” He looked suddenly shy as he looked at Serena. “We could have been married by the chaplain, but there's a pretty little church near here, and I thought that maybe … if you'd like …” He was blushing like a boy, and Serena took his face in her hands and kissed him.

“Do you know how much I love you, sir?”

“No, tell me.”

“With all my heart and soul.”

“That's all?” He attempted to look disappointed but did not succeed. “What about the rest?”

“You have a filthy mind. The rest isn't yours until after the wedding.”

“What?” This time he looked genuinely shocked. “What do you mean?”

“Just what you think. I'll go to the altar as a virgin … relatively!” She grinned and he let out a whoop.

“Well, I'll be.… Which wedding anyway? The one today, or the one tomorrow morning?”

“Tomorrow morning of course. We have the same system in Italy that they have here.” She looked prim and virginal as she crossed her long shapely legs and looked at him over her cup of chocolate.

“Well, it you aren't the most outrageous tease.” And then, with determination, he set down her cup and began to kiss her, one hand sliding slowly up her leg, and the other pressing her against him.

“B.J.! Stop that!”

It was at mat moment that Pierre walked in, coughing discreetly and rather loudly closing the glass doors behind him, and Serena smoothed her skirt and looked daggers at B.J., who only grinned. “Yes, Pierre?”

“The car is here, sir.”

B.J. looked gently at Serena then. He had barely had time to explain and it was already about to happen. “Darling, this is it. Round One. Do you want to go upstairs for a few minutes and wash your face or something before we go?”

“Now? Already?” She looked suddenly panicked. “But I just got off the train. I look awful.”

“Not to me.” He smiled at her and she knew he meant it, but she stood up hurriedly and looked at him for only an instant before hurrying to the door, where she turned and looked at him distractedly.

“I'll be right back. Don't leave without me.” She heard him laughing as she disappeared into the pink marble hall, and then he heard her rushing up the stairs. To him, it seemed as though she were gone forever, but in fact she was only gone for ten minutes, and when she returned, she looked lovely, and almost like a bride. The week before in Rome, Marcella had made her a simple white wool dress with broad shoulders, a plain rounded collar, short sleeves, and a tiny waist above a softly flaring skirt. The fabric was beautiful and Marcella had bought it with her savings of the past months as a gift for Serena. She had asked her to wear it at her wedding. Now, walking slowly down the stairs, her golden hair swept into a smooth figure-eight knot, her eyes bright, and the beautifully made dress swirling gently around her, she looked like a principessa to the very tips of her toes. She stood very tall as she came toward B.J., and he saw that she was wearing a single strand of pearls and matching pearl earrings in her ears, then she turned her face up toward him and he kissed her lips.

“You look beautiful, Serena.” She smiled at him, wishing for only a moment that she could have had a wedding like those she had gone to with her parents years ago. Fairy princesses sweeping grandly down marble staircases in gowns that looked like white clouds, trimmed with lace and trailing behind them yards of white satin. But those were other times, and suddenly here was her wedding day and she was sure that she felt no different than those other brides. It was extraordinary to realize that when she had woken up that morning, on the train, she hadn't known that this would be her wedding day. She had known that it would be soon, but not four hours after she arrived. She looked happily at B.J. and he reached for the brown coat she had been carrying over her arm, but suddenly Pierre stepped forward discreetly and shook his head.

“No, Colonel … no.…”

“No? What no? Is something wrong?”

“Yes.” The old butler nodded resolutely, held up a finger like the leader of a symphony orchestra and instructed them both. “Please wait. Just a moment. I come right back.” He had disappeared then into the pantry, and a distant clattering of heels told them that he had gone downstairs. B.J. shrugged, not sure of what was going on, and Serena's heart was beginning to pound with excitement. In half an hour she would be Mrs. Bradford Jarvis Fullerton III.

“I can't believe it.” Suddenly she giggled and grinned up at him like a little girl.

“What, love?” He was glancing at his watch. He hoped that Pierre wouldn't make them late.

But Serena seemed unconcerned. “I can't believe we're getting married. It's like a fairy tale. I mean, who would believe …” She rattled on as they waited and then she looked up at him again. “Do your parents know?” She had just thought of that again, but she assumed that he had already let them know.

“Sure.” But his answer was a little too quick, and Serena looked at him in sudden suspicion.

“Brad?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you tell them?”

“I told you, yes.”

Her voice was suddenly more subdued as she sat down on one of the peach velvet banquettes. “What did they say?”

“Congratulations.” He grinned lopsidedly at her and she made a face.

“You're impossible. I'm serious. Were they angry?”

“Of course not. They were pleased. And much more importantly, Serena, I'm pleased. Isn't that enough?” He looked earnestly at her, and she stood up to kiss him again.

“Of course that's enough.” And at precisely that moment Pierre returned, bustling with excitement and with Marie-Rose in tow, carrying a black satin bag draped over something on a hanger. As Marie-Rose stopped talking Pierre took the cumbersome object from her, held the hanger high and unzipped the black satin bag, revealing within a sumptuous dark brown fur coat, which as it emerged from the satin turned out to be sable. Serena stared at it in silence, confused as to why it was there.

“Mademoiselle … Principessa. …” Pierre beamed at her with an official air. “This sable coat belonged to the late baroness and we have kept it with the baron's other valuables, downstairs, in the locked room, for all of these years. We think it seems appropriate … we would like it if you would wear it today, when you marry the colonel, and tomorrow at the church.” He smiled gently at her and extended the coat as Serena almost visibly trembled.

Marie-Rose added softly from behind him, “It would look lovely with your white dress.”

“But it's so valuable … sable … good heavens … I couldn't.…” And then helplessly toward her fiancé, “Brad … I …”

But he had just exchanged a long look with Pierre, and the girl's shabby brown tweed coat lay in an ugly little heap on the banquette. She was a princess, after all, and she was about to become his wife, what harm could it do to wear it just twice? “Go on, sweetheart. Why don't you wear it? Pierre's right, and it's a beautiful coat.” He smiled tenderly at his bride.

“But, Brad …” She was flushed crimson, partly in embarrassment and partly in excitement. To save time B.J. simply took the coat gently from the old butler's hands and slipped it on her. It fit perfectly over her shoulders, the sleeves were full and the right length, the coat was cut in the same flare as her dress, and instead of a collar it had a huge generous hood, which he slipped onto her head now. She looked like a fairy princess in a Russian fairy tale as she stood there, and he had to bend to kiss her as Pierre and Marie-Rose looked on with delight.

“Good luck, mademoiselle.” Pierre stepped forward to shake her hand, and without thinking, she leaned forward to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you.” She could barely speak, she was so moved. How much they trusted her, and how quickly, after what they had all been through in the war, it was extraordinary to be able to make these gestures, of faith and love and generosity. In a sense it was their wedding gift to her, and she was more moved than she could have told them. Marie-Rose came toward her too, and the two women hugged, as Marie-Rose kissed Serena on both cheeks.

When they arrived at l'hôtel de ville, at the end of the Rue de Rivoli, hand in hand they ran up the steps, and Brad held the door open for her, as she passed beneath his arm in a swirl of the sable coat. She noticed a few heads turn as she and Brad walked solemnly down a gold and mirrored hallway, stopped at an office, and he extracted a sheaf of papers from his coat pocket and handed them to a young woman who seemed to be fully up to date on the entire proceeding. He apologized to her for being late, and a moment later the young woman beckoned from a door, and Serena and Brad followed her inside. Here they were met by a heavy set clerk of some kind who asked them to sign an enormous ledger. He looked over their papers again, checked their passports, and then stamped several documents with an official-looking seal. He came around his desk then, with a harrumph and some minor adjustment to his glasses, straightened his tie, and then raised his right hand, looking as though he were about to swear them in. He muttered several banal phrases in French, and then extended a worn-out old Bible to Serena, asking her to repeat after him, the following phrases, which she did with her big green eyes wide, and her face pale, and her heart beating very fast, and then suddenly it was Brad's turn, and then seconds later it seemed to be over, and the heavyset man turned and walked back around his desk and sat down.

“You may go now. And congratulations.” He looked most unimpressed, and Brad and Serena looked at each other with the first hint of realization.

“We're all through?” It was Brad who spoke.

“Yes.” He looked at them as though they were very stupid. “You're married.”

They moved as though in a dream, holding hands all the way home, where they found the champagne Marie-Rose and Pierre had left them, and Brad toasted his wife with a tender smile.

“Well, Mrs. Fullerton, what do you think? Time to go to bed?” Brad's eyes gleamed mischievously, and Serena shook her head with a look of amusement and regret.

“Already? On our wedding night? Shouldn't we stay up for hours, or go dancing or something?”

“Is that really what you want to do?” They smiled into each other's eyes and slowly she shook her head.

“I just want to be with you … for the rest of my life.”

“And you will, my darling, you will.” It was a promise of safety and protection, which she knew he would always keep. Then he scooped the long-legged beauty into his arms and proceeded out of the living room and up the broad staircase, carrying her toward the bedroom, where he laid her gently upon the bed.

“Brad …” she said in a tentative whisper, and her hands were as urgent as his as she felt her husband's body and ran her hands quickly under his shirt, and then more slowly undid the trousers as she felt the huge hungry bulge in his pants.

“I love you, darling.”

“Oh, Brad.”

“May I?” He pulled away from her for just an instant before undoing the white dress and she nodded slowly as he unzipped it and pulled it over her head. “Oh, darling, I want you so much.” His hands and his lips found her at once, and a moment later she was naked on the big bed and so was he, the lights were dim, and the fire was bright, and outside it was suddenly nightfall, on then-wedding night, as her body rose hungrily toward his, and he took her gently and fully, reveling in the knowledge that now she was his wife.

14

The religious ceremony the next morning at the little English church farther down the Avenue Hoche was brief and lovely. Serena wore the same white dress she had worn the day before, but Marie-Rose had miraculously gotten her a small bouquet of white roses, and she carried them in her hand as she walked up the aisle in the dark sable coat with the hood concealing her golden hair. She looked incredibly lovely as she turned to Brad and once again said her vows, this time at the picturesque little altar, the winter sun streaming in the windows, and the little old priest smiling down on the young couple, and then giving them his blessing and pronouncing them man and wife. Marie-Rose and Pierre served as best man and matron of honor, B.J. hadn't been in Paris long enough to make any close friends, and he wanted to keep the wedding private. Within the next few days, during the official Christmas festivities that would take place around Paris, he would introduce her to everyone as his wife.

“Well, Mrs. Fullerton, do you feel married now?” He smiled at her as he held her hand on the short drive home, as Pierre and Marie-Rose sat in the front seat with the driver.

“I sure do. Twice as much as yesterday.” It was extraordinary to realize that less than twenty-four hours before she had arrived in Paris, and now she was B.J.'s wife. Suddenly she thought of Marcella and wished that she could tell her, and she promised herself to write to her by that night.

“Happy, darling?”

“Very much so. And you, Colonel?” She smiled gently as she leaned forward to kiss him softly on the mouth, her face almost hidden by the sumptuous sable hood, her eyes bright as emeralds in the winter light.

“Never happier. And one of these days we'll take a honeymoon, I promise.” But he hadn't been in Paris long enough to ask for any significant time off. Not that Serena cared. All their time together was like a honeymoon. She had never been happier than she was with him. “Maybe we could drive out to the country for the day, on Christmas.” He looked at her dreamily. He really didn't want to drive anywhere. He wanted to stay in bed with her for the next week, and make love. She giggled then as she looked at him, almost as though she knew what he was thinking. “What's so funny?”

“You are.” She leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “I don't believe a word of what you're saying. I don't think you'll drive me to the country at all. It's all a plot to keep me locked in our room.”

“How did you know?” he whispered back. “Who told you?”

“You did.” She chuckled again, but then smoothed the sable coat over her legs and attempted to look at him seriously. “But I have to go out to do some Christmas shopping, you know, Brad.”

“On our wedding day?” He looked shocked.

“Today or tomorrow. That's all that's left.”

“But what'll I do?”

“You can come with me, for part of it anyway.” She smiled happily and lowered her voice again. “I want to get something for them.” She indicated the front seat with her eyes as Marie-Rose and Pierre chatted animately with the driver, and BJ. nodded agreement.

“That's a good idea.” He looked at his watch then and frowned. “After lunch I want to call my parents.” Serena nodded quietly. She was nervous about the idea, but she knew that she'd have to meet them sooner or later, and it would be easier if she had spoken to them on the phone once or twice. But each time she thought of them, she found herself remembering Pattie Atherton, and all that she had said that day, in her rage, on the balcony overlooking the garden … you and some goddamn little Italian maid … your Italian whore.… Serena almost winced as she heard her again in her head, and Brad reached out and took her hand in his. “You don't have to worry about them, Serena. They're going to love you. And much more importantly, I love you. And then”—he smiled to himself as he thought of his family—”there are my two brothers. You're going to love them too. Especially Teddy.”

“The youngest one?” She looked happily into her husband's face, trying to forget Pattie's words again. Perhaps his brothers would like her, after all.

“Yes, Teddy is the youngest. Greg is the one in between.” His face clouded for a moment, “Greg is … well, he's different. He's quieter than the rest of us. He's … I don't know, maybe he's more like my father. He sort of goes his own way, and he's odd, you can influence him more easily than you can me or Teddy. We're both more stubborn than he is, and yet when he really gets something in his head that he cares about a great deal, he's like a bloody mule.” He looked at her with amusement. “But Teddy … he's the family genius, the imp, the elf. He's more decent than any of us put together, and more creative. Teddy has”—he thought for a long moment—”soul … and humor … and wisdom … and looks.”

“Wait, maybe I got the wrong brother.”

B.J. looked at her in total seriousness. “You might have. And he's certainly more your age than I am, Serena.” And then his mood lightened quickly. “But I'm the one you got, kiddo, so you're stuck with me.” But it was evident, as it always was when he spoke of his youngest brother, that there was a bond of tenderness between them that reached to his very soul. “You know, after he graduates from Princeton next June he says he's going to med school, and dammit, I bet he will too, and he'll be a terrific doctor.” He looked at her again with a broad grin and she leaned over and kissed him.

Back at the house on the Avenue Hoche, they opened another bottle of champagne and drank it with Pierre and Marie-Rose, and then the elderly couple went downstairs to prepare lunch, and B.J. and Serena went upstairs to celebrate their honeymoon again, and when Marie-Rose buzzed them an hour later, they hated to get dressed and go downstairs.

Eventually Serena was dressed in a gray skirt and gray sweater, once again wearing her single strand of pearls. As he emerged from the bathroom Brad noticed that it was a very sober outfit.

“What happened to the white dress?” He had liked that, it made her waist look so tiny, and she looked lovely in white. The gray looked strangely sad for such a happy day. But it was the best skirt she owned, and the sweater was cashmere, a rarity for her too. She owned almost no clothes, except what she had brought from the convent, and what she had worked in at the palazzo. She knew she would have to buy more now that she was his wife, and she was planning to spend some of what was left of her money on that too. She didn't want to disgrace him with the ugly hand-me-downs that were mostly all that she had.

“Don't worry. I'll buy some new things.” She looked embarrassed then. “Is this … is it very ugly?” She glanced in the mirror and realized how drab it seemed. It was a far cry from the white dress, and the borrowed sable, but this was all she had. She blushed faintly and he went to her and took her in his arms again.

“I'd love you wrapped in a blanket, you big silly. Nothing you ever wear looks ugly. You just looked pretty in the white … and the sable. Why don't we take you shopping this afternoon, and get you some pretty new things? My Christmas present to you.”

Before she could protest, as he knew she would, he put an arm around her shoulders, and went downstairs with her, where they sat down to a sumptuous lunch. Marie-Rose had outdone herself on their behalf. There was a delicately seasoned homemade cream of vegetable soup, a tasty pâté with freshly baked bread, wonderful little roast squabs, and a puree of artichoke hearts, which B.J. especially loved. There was salad, and Brie and pears, which Marie-Rose had been hoarding for days in honor of this luncheon, and for dessert she had made a chocolate soufflé with vanilla sauce and whipped cream.

“Good God, I don't think I'll ever be able to move again.” Serena stared at him almost in amazement. “I've never eaten that much in my life.”

“God, it was wonderful.” B.J. looked glazed as he looked up at Pierre, who offered him now a small brandy and a cigar. B.J. refused them both with regret.

And after Pierre had left them, B.J stood up and stretched in the warm winter sunshine streaming through the long French windows, and then he went to Serena and rubbed her shoulders gently with his strong hands, as she dropped her head back and looked up at him “Hello, my love Are you as happy as I am?”

“Much more so And fatter. God, after that lunch, I may never fit into my uniforms again “

“It's a good thing I wasn't wearing Marcella's white dress, I would have exploded and blown the dress to smithereens.” He laughed at the vision and pulled her chair back for her, as she stood up slowly and stretched too “I don't even feel like shopping, but I really have to.”

“First”—he glanced at his watch—”we have to call my parents It may take a while to get through, but it's important. I want to introduce them to my wife.” He kissed her then and walked her into the library where he picked up the phone on the desk, dialed the operator, and began, in halting French, to give her the number he wanted in New York

“Do you want me to do that for you?” She whispered it to him and he whispered back.

“It makes me feel competent to make myself understood in French” But he knew that his French was barely tolerable and Serena's was fluent, but nonetheless he managed, and a moment later, having given the operator all the information, he hung up

Pierre had started a fire in the fireplace before lunch and now it was blazing along at a good clip B.J went to sit in front of it and beckoned to Serena, who came to sit beside him and hold his hand. She looked worried though as she came to him, and he gently stroked her hair, as though hoping that that would calm her worries.

“Do you think they'll be very angry, Brad?”

“No. Surprised maybe.” He was staring into the fire as he spoke. At that precise moment he was thinking of his mother.

“But you said you told them we were going to get married.”

“I know I did” He turned to her then, with a quiet look in his eyes, as though he were not afraid and were very sure of what he was doing. It was in moments like that that she became aware of his strength again, and his self-confidence. Brad always seemed perfectly sure about what he was doing. It was a quality that had brought him far in his work, and that had served him well all his life. When he had gone to Princeton, he had been the captain of the football team, and he had managed that with the same quiet assurance. It had made everyone respect his word instantly, both on the team and off, and despite her worries, it made Serena feel calmer now. Just the tone of his voice was reassuring, even if she didn't quite understand what he just said. “I know I told you that I told them, Serena. But I didn't. There was no reason to. It was my decision, our decision. I wanted to wait until we were married.”

“But why?” She was shocked that he had felt the need to lie to her the day before.

He sighed deeply and looked into the fire, and then back at her. “Because my mother is a very strong woman, Serena. She likes to have her way, and sometimes she thinks she knows what's best for us. But she doesn't always. If she could, she'd like to make our choices for us. I've never let her. My father always has. And she's made some damn good choices for him. But not for me, Serena, not for me.” He looked as though he were thinking back over his whole life as he spoke to her. “I thought that maybe if I called her first, she'd try to put her two cents in, want to fly over and meet you first, God knows what. She'd probably tell me I was robbing the cradle. Above all, I didn't want to get you upset. You've been through enough, and I want to make things easy for you, Serena, not harder. There was no point having her come over here to look you over, tell me you were terrific, and scare you to death in the bargain. So I thought we'd get our life all squared away by ourselves, and then tell her when it was a fait accompli.” He waited a moment and then, “Do you forgive me?”

“I suppose so.” He made sense, but the worry had not quite left her eyes. “But what if that makes her so angry, she dislikes me?”

“She couldn't, darling. How could she dislike you? She'd have to be crazy. And my mother is a lot of things, but not that.” And then, as though on cue, the phone rang, and it was the French operator, announcing to him that she had his transatlantic call for him. At the other end was a nasal-sounding operator in New York who was just about to get his call on the line. He heard the phone ring three times, and then it was answered by B.J.'s youngest brother. He accepted the call and roared into the phone over the static.

“How the hell are you, old boy? And Christ, how is Paris? I sure wish I were there!”

“Never mind that. How's school?”

“Same as ever. Dull as hell. But I'm almost out, thank God, and I got accepted at Stanford Med School for September.” He sounded like an excited schoolboy and B.J. grinned.

“That's terrific, kid. Hey, listen, is Mom around?” He seldom asked for his father. His father had been the invisible man for thirty years. In some ways their father had a lot in common with their middle brother. Mr. Fullerton was somewhat more enterprising than Greg, after all for one term he had been in the Senate, but he had coasted more on family prestige, good connections, and lots of campaign money than on any personal charisma of his own. In truth, it was Margaret Fullerton who should have been in politics. B.J. used to tease her that she should have been the first woman president. She would have too, if she could have got away with it. But she had settled for pushing her husband, being in the circles that such people as Eleanor Roosevelt were in.

“Yeah, she's here. You okay, Brad?”

“Just great. All of you? Greg? Dad?”

“Greg got his discharge a few weeks ago.” But it was no great shakes, as they all knew. He had served out the entire war at a desk in Fort Dix, New Jersey, spending weekends at home, or in Southampton in the summer. He had felt desperately guilty about it, as he had finally told his younger brother. But because B.J. had been so quick to get himself sent overseas and had several times had assignments in dangerous zones, their parents had been able to pull strings so that only one of their children was jeopardized. Greg had been safe in New Jersey at all times. And Teddy of course had been in college since 1941, with every intention of joining the army when he got out.

“What's he going to do now?”

“Why don't you ask him?” Teddy said with faint hesitation, and then, “Dad's going to take him into the law firm. What about you, Brad? Aren't you ever coming home?”

“Eventually. Nobody's said anything to me about it yet over here.”

“Are you ready to come home yet?” There was an odd questioning tone in Teddy's voice and Brad suddenly wondered what he knew.

“Maybe not. It's damn nice over here, Ted. Listen, if I'm still here next spring when you graduate, why don't you come out to see us—me …”he corrected quickly with a rapid glance at Serena across the desk.

“You think you'll still be there then?” Teddy sounded disappointed. “Hell, aren't you ever going to muster out, B.J.?”

There was a moment's pause. “I don't think so, Ted. I like the army. I never thought I would. But I think this is just right for me. And …”He looked at Serena with tenderness in his eyes. He wanted to tell Teddy about her, but he felt he ought to tell his mother first. “Listen, I'll talk to you later. Go get Mother, Ted. And listen,” B.J. said as an afterthought, “don't say anything to them, Ted. Mom's going to have a fit when I tell her I'm staying in the army.”

“Brad …” There was that strange tone in his voice again. “I think she knows.” It was as though he were warning his older brother of something.

“Anything wrong?” Brad was suddenly tense.

“No.” He'd find out soon enough. “I'll go get Mom.”

As it so happened, she was in the dining room having breakfast with Greg and Pattie Atherton, who had come for a special pre-Christmas breakfast “with them all. When Ted went to the doorway and beckoned his mother urgently, she came quickly, with a worried frown.”

“Is something wrong, Ted?”

“No, Mom, it's Brad on the phone. He called us to wish us a Merry Christmas.” And as he said it he hoped that his mother would allow it to remain merry. She took the phone from her youngest son, smoothing a hand over her snowy white hair, and sat down quickly in her desk chair. She was dressed elegantly in a black Dior suit that did extremely well by her still-streamlined youthful figure. She was a woman of fifty-eight, but she could easily have concealed ten or twelve of those years, had she chosen to, which she never did. She had B.J.'s same slate-gray eyes, and the features were much the same too, but whereas on B.J. everything looked easygoing and gentle, on his mother everything looked eternally tense. One always had the feeling that she was listening for something, some superhuman, extraterrestrial whine that was audible only to her. There was always about her a kind of electric tension, and she seemed ever about to pounce, which she did frequently, mostly on her husband, and often on her sons. She was a woman one spoke to carefully and handled with the utmost caution, so as not to set her off, or “get her started,” as her family called it. “Don't get your mother started, boys,” her husband had always implored his sons. And in order not to himself, he hardly ever spoke, but he nodded constant agreement. When they were younger, the boys used to imitate him a lot, B.J. having perfected his father's constant noncommittal, almost mechanical “Ummmmmm.…”

“Hi, Mom. How's everything in New York?”

“Interesting. Very interesting. Eleanor was here for lunch yesterday.” He knew she referred to Mrs. Roosevelt. “The political news these days is certainly ever changing. It's a hard time for her, for all of us really. There are a lot of readjustments going on after the war. But never mind all that, Brad darling. More to the point, how are you?” She said it with an emphasis that ten years before would have made him extremely nervous. But he had got over being intimidated by his mother when he gave up his job in Washington and moved to Pittsburgh to suit himself. It had been a move of which she had violently disapproved, and for the first time in his life he had decided that that wasn't going to change anything for him. “Are you all right, darling? Healthy? Happy? Coming home?”

“Yes to the first three, no to the fourth question, I'm afraid. At least they don't appear to be shipping me Stateside for the moment. But I'm fine, everything's just fine.” He saw Serena's expectant eyes upon him, and for the first time in a long time he realized that he was afraid of his mother. But this time he had to stand up to her, not only for himself, but for Serena. It gave him added courage as he plunged in. “I've got some good news for you.”

“Another promotion, Brad?” She sounded pleased. As much as she disliked having him in the army, as long as he insisted on being in it, his frequent promotions pacified her and pleased her with their prestige.

“Not exactly, Mom. Better than that in fact.” He swallowed hard, realizing suddenly what he had done. Serena was right. He should have called her first. Christ, imagine telling her like this when it was all over. He could feel a thin veil of sweat break out along his hairline and prayed that Serena wouldn't see. “I just got married.” He wanted to close his eyes and gulp air, but he couldn't, not with those expectant, trusting green eyes on him. Instead he smiled at Serena and gestured that everything was going fine.

“You what! You're joking of course.” There was a silence, but before that there had been a tight edge in her voice. He could imagine the tenseness in her face by listening to the tone of her voice. He could picture the elegant almost bony hand with the heavy diamond rings clutching the phone. “What's this all about?”

“It's about a wonderful young lady whom I met in Rome. We were married this morning, Mother, in the English church here.”

There was an endless pause while he waited. At her end her face was suddenly grim, her eyes the color of the Atlantic before a hurricane. “Is there some adequate reason why you've kept this a secret, Brad?”

“No. I just wanted it to be a surprise.”

His mother's voice was glacial. “I assume she's pregnant.”

Slowly Brad was beginning to burn. Nothing ever changed. No matter how old they got, she still treated them the same way. Like naughty, demented little puppets. It was what had driven him away years before. He always kind of forgot that part of it and he was realizing that things were no different now.

“No, you're mistaken.” For Serena's sake he went on as though all were well. “Her name is Serena, and she's blond and very beautiful.” He felt faintly crazy as he said it all, and all he wanted was to get off the phone. “And we're very happy.”

“How enchanting.” His mother's words shot into the phone like bullets. “Do you expect me to applaud? Is it possible that this is the girl Pattie told me about in November?” His mother's tone would have cracked marble. “I believe she mentioned that the girl was a maid in the place where you lived. Or is this someone else?” By what right do you ask, damn you, he wanted to shout at her, but he controlled himself as best he could and attempted not to fly into a rage.

“I don't think that's something I want to discuss with you now. I think when Pattie was in Rome she saw things with jaundiced eyes—”

“Why?” His mother cut him off. “Because she broke off the engagement?”

“Is that what she told you?”

“Isn't that what happened?”

“Not exactly. I told her that things had changed and I wanted to call off the engagement.”

“Not by the account I heard.” Margaret Fullerton did not sound as though she believed her son. “Pattie said that you were having an affair with your scrub girl, and when she caught you at it, she gave back the ring and came home.”

“It's a nice tight little story, Mother. The only trouble is that it's not true. The only thing true about it”—he realized that it made sense to admit at least that much to his mother, in case she heard something later on—”is that Serena was working at the palazzo. Her parents owned it before the war. But her father was among the aristocracy against Mussolini, and both of her parents were killed early on in the war. It's a long story and I won't give you all the details now. She's a principessa by birth and spent the war at a convent in the States, and when she returned to Italy last summer, she found that the rest of her family had died, she had no one and nothing left, so she went back to the palazzo to see it, and was taken in by one of the maids. She's had a grim time of it, Mother.” He smiled at Serena. “But that's all over now.”

“How charming. A little match girl. A war bride.” Her tone was venomous. “My dear boy, do you have any idea how many nobodies are wandering around Europe now pretending that they were once princes and counts and dukes? My God, they're even doing it over here. There's a waiter in your father's club who claims that he's a Russian prince. Perhaps,” his mother suggested sweetly, “you'd like to introduce your bride to him. I'm sure he'd be a much more suitable companion for her than you are.”

“That's a rotten thing to say.” His eyes flayed. “I called to tell you the news. That's all. I think we've said enough for now.” Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Serena's eyes fill with tears. She knew what was happening and it tore at his heart. He wanted to make everything right for his wife and he didn't give a damn what his mother said. “Good-bye, Mother. I'll speak to you again soon.”

His mother offered no congratulations. “Before you go, you might like to know that your brother Gregory just got engaged.”

“Really? To whom?” But he didn't really care now. He was too incensed about his mother's behavior and her reaction to the news of his marriage to Serena. Only one thing struck him odd before she told him, and that was that Ted hadn't said a word about Greg.

“He got engaged to Partie.” She said it with pleasure, almost with glee.

“Atherton?” B.J. was stunned.

“Yes, Pattie Atherton. I didn't write to you because I wasn't sure, and I didn't want to cause you unnecessary pain.” Bullshit. She wanted to maximize the shock. B.J. knew his mother better than that. “She began seeing him almost as soon as she got back from Rome.”

“That's terrific.” He marveled at what a manipulative scheming little bitch Pattie was. At least she had chosen the right brother this time. Greg would do everything she wanted him to. She had made the right choice for herself. But B.J. found himself wondering if she would destroy his brother. He hoped not, but he was almost sure that she would. He was dying to ask Ted what he thought of it, but he knew that now he wouldn't be able to speak to him again. “When are they getting married, Mother?”

“In June. Just before he turns thirty.” How touching. And Pattie would be twenty-four, and the perfect bride in a white lace dress. Suddenly the mental picture of it made him almost ill. His brother devoured by that bitch. “I'm sure it would be painful for you, Brad. But I think you should be here.”

“Of course. I wouldn't miss it.” He felt more like himself now, but he was still awed by his mother's skill.

“And you can leave the little war bride at home.”

“That's not even a remote possibility, Mother. We look forward to seeing you all then, and for now Merry Christmas. I won't bother to speak to Greg now, but give him my best.” He didn't give a damn about speaking to Greg. They had never been close and they were less so now, and he had had enough of his mother and her vicious attitude about Serena. He wanted to get off the phone at all costs. He was only sorry that Serena was in the room while he spoke to his mother. He truly wished that he could tell her all that he was thinking. But he would have to do that by letter, and without delay.

“I think he's still in the dining room with Pattie. We were just finishing breakfast when you called. Pattie came by early today, they're going to Tiffany's first thing this morning to pick out the ring.”

“Marvelous.”

“It could have been you, Brad.”

“I'm glad it's not.” There was a pregnant silence.

“I wish it were. Instead of what you've just done.”

“You won't feel that way when you meet Serena.”

There was an odd silence. “I don't normally socialize with maids.”

Brad wanted to explode at her reaction, but knew he could not, for Serena's sake.

“You're a fool, Brad.” She rushed on into his silence. “You ought to be ashamed. A man with your connections and your chances, and look what you've just done with your life. It makes me want to weep for what you're throwing away. Do you think you'll ever make it in politics now, with that kind of woman as your wife? For all you know she's a common prostitute calling herself a princess. Pattie said she looked like a tramp.”

“I'll let you judge for yourself. She's ten times the lady Pattie is. That little slut has been giving it away free for years!” He was beginning to lose his cool at last.

“How dare you speak of your brother's fiancée in those disgusting terms.”

“Then don't you ever”—his voice flew into the phone like a torpedo, and at her end Margaret Fullerton was taken aback —”don't you ever speak about my wife that way again. Is that clear? She's my wife now. Whatever you think, you'd damn well better keep it to yourself from now on. She's mine. That's all. That's all you need to know. And I expect everyone in this family, including that little bitch Pattie, to treat her with respect. You bloody well ought to love her, all of you, because she's a damn sight better than any of you, but whether you love her or not, you'd better be polite to her, and to me when you speak about her, or you'll never see me again.”

“I won't tolerate your threats, Bradford.” Her voice was like granite.

“I won't tolerate yours. Merry Christmas, Mother.” And with that, he quietly hung up the phone. When he turned to look sorrowfully at Serena, he saw that she was sitting beside the fire, her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking, and when he went to her and forced her to look up, he saw that her face was drenched with tears.

“Oh, darling, I'm so sorry you heard all that.”

“She hates me … she hates me … we broke her heart.”

“Serena.” He pulled her into his arms and held her against him. “She has no heart, my darling. She hasn't for years. It's something everyone in the family knows, and I should have told you. My mother has a mind like a whip, and a heart of stone. She is tougher than most men I know, and all she wants is to make everyone do what she wants them to do. She has settled for pushing my father around for thirty-six years, and she's tried for years to push me around too. She has better luck with my brother Greg, and I'm not sure yet how Teddy is going to survive all this. But what she doesn't like about you is that you weren't her idea—she didn't find you, she didn't try to push me into marrying you. All she hates about you is that she has no control. I chose for myself, just like when I joined the army. That is what she can't accept. It has nothing at all to do with you. It has to do with a battle between me and her that has gone on for years.”

“But Pattie … she told her I was the maid at the palazzo … what must your mother think?” Serena was still sobbing in his arms.

“Serena, my love, first of all don't ever forget who you really are. And anyway, do you think it matters to me that you were a maid or whatever you've been. The only thing that I care about is that I'm sorry you had to go through all the turmoil, and trauma, and misery and hard work. But I can tell you one thing, from now on, I'm going to make your life happy, and try to make up to you for all the rest.” He kissed her damp eyes and stroked her hair gently.

“Do you think she will ever forgive us?”

“Of course she will. It's not that big a deal. She was just surprised, that's all. And she was hurt that we hadn't included her earlier.” It was a gentling of the realities of the situation, but he hoped that it would do for now.

Serena shook her head sadly. “She will always hate me. And she will always think of me as the Italian maid.”

B.J. laughed at that. “No, she won't, silly. I promise.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I know my mother. And she knows me. She knows that she can't run me. It's a simple fact of life. So she'll eventually accept what happened, and when she finally sees you, she'll be bowled over, just as I was, and she'll see what you are—beautiful, and gentle and lovely, intelligent, and the woman I love. They're all going to love you, Serena, even my damn mother. I promise … you'll see.…”

“But all that Pattie said—”

“Sour grapes, my love. Even my mother will recognize that when she sees you together.”

“Together?” Serena looked shocked, and B.J. looked rueful.

“She's marrying my brother Greg in June. That's an interesting development, isn't it?”

Serena watched him closely and dried her eyes. “She's marrying your brother?” He nodded. “Do you mind?”

“Not in the way you mean. What I mind is that I think she's the worst thing that could happen to my brother. Or maybe not, maybe he needs someone to run his life. My mother can't do it forever.”

“Is he really that weak?”

B.J. nodded slowly. “I hate to admit it, but he is, the poor devil. He's just like my father.”

“Your father's weak too?” She looked shocked to hear him tearing his family apart so candidly. He had never done this with her before.

“Yes, my father is weak too. And my mother has more balls than an entire football team put together. I don't think it's made her happy, and at various times it has driven all of us nuts, but there it is. And all that matters, my darling, is that I love you. Now, I have done my duty, I have told my family about our marriage, I'm sorry that they didn't jump up and down with joy, but once they meet you they will, so let's not worry about that, and now let's go Christmas shopping. Is that a deal?” She looked up at him with damp eyes, and attempted a smile.

“I love you.” But she almost instantly began to cry again. “I'm so sorry.”

“Why? For crying all day on our wedding day, for that you should be sorry. Very sorry, especially after that terrific lunch.” He handed her his handkerchief again and she blew her nose.

“No, I'm sorry because I've made your family so unhappy.”

“You haven't, I promise you. You have given my mother something to think about, which won't do her any harm, and the rest of the family will probably think it's great news.” And at that moment, before he could continue, the phone rang, and it was his brother Teddy, calling from the States. “What's up?” B.J. looked vaguely worried and a moment later Serena saw him break into a broad smile. “She's sensational, you're going to love her.… Okay … okay … I'll let you talk to her yourself.” And then without further warning, he handed the phone to Serena with only the brief introduction, “My brother Ted.”

“Hello, Serena, this is Teddy. I'm Brad's youngest brother, and I just wanted to congratulate you myself. I wanted you to know that I'm happy for you and Brad. And I'm sure that if my brother loves you, you must be one terrific lady, and I can't wait to meet you.”

Tears filled her eyes as she murmured, “Thank you so much.” She blushed and stammered then as she reached for her husband's hand. “I hope … so much … that I will not make the family unhappy.…” Brad could hear the terror in her voice. His poor little princess, afraid of his twenty-two-year-old brother. Poor thing, she had really been through the wringer. But never again. He would keep his mother in check when they went to New York for Greg's wedding, if they went at all.

Ted was quick to reassure her. “The only way you could make us unhappy is if you make Brad unhappy, and I can't imagine you doing that.”

“Oh, no!” She sounded shocked.

“Good. Then just know how happy I am for you.”

Her eyes filled with tears again and she said good-bye to her new brother and handed the phone back to Brad.

“Isn't she terrific?” Brad was beaming at her as he spoke to his brother.

Teddy sounded more serious again. “I just hope you're not as nuts as Mom said. Is she really a nice girl, Brad?”

“The best.”

“You love each other?”

“Yes, we do.”

“Then, I wish you the best, Brad. I wish I were there to tell you myself. I wish I'd been there to share it with you.” And Brad knew that Teddy meant it.

“So do I. But we'll make up for it when we get together. What's this insanity about Greg, by the way?”

“You heard it. I guess Pattie figured that if she couldn't have you she'd have him. I'm just lucky she didn't decide to grab me, I guess.”

“Luckier than you know, kid.”

“I suspect as much. I hope old Greg holds up.”

“So do I.” They both sounded worried as they thought about Greg's impending marriage.

“Anyway, I just wanted to congratulate you both and wish you luck and tell you that I love you.”

“You're a great kid, Teddy. And one hell of a fine brother. I love you.” His voice was hoarse as he said the words.

“My love to you both,” Ted said gently, and then said good-bye.

Brad turned to Serena with a look of great tenderness after he'd hung up. “I've got some baby brother.”

“He sounds wonderful.”

“He is. I can't wait for you to meet him.” They held each other close then for a long moment, in the study, as Brad thought of his family so far away, and in spite of the joy of the special day he was sharing with Serena, he was suddenly homesick for the States, and his family, especially his brother Ted. “Do you want to go out now?” He looked down at his wife.

“What would you like, Brad?” She recognized that it had been an emotional hour for them both, and she felt spent, but she still wanted to buy him a gift.

But he looked at her warmly and took her hand. “I'd like to take you out and buy you everything in sight, Serena Fullerton, that's what I'd like to do.” She grinned at the use of her new name. “Come on, let's go shopping.”

“Are you sure?” She smiled at the anxious look in his eyes.

“Very sure. Go get your ugly coat.” She had already given the sable back to Marie-Rose and Pierre. “I'm going to buy you a new one.”

“Not a sable, I hope.”

“Hardly.” But as it turned out, he bought her a luscious blond lynx, and boxes upon boxes of new clothes. When they staggered home at six o'clock, he had bought her at least a dozen new dresses, two suits, half a dozen hats, the lynx coat, gold earrings, a black wool coat as well, shoes, handbags, scarves, underwear, nightgowns. She was totally overwhelmed by the avalanche of expensive goodies he bought her, and her own gift to him seemed so small in comparison, but it had taken almost the last of her savings. She had bought him a gold cigarette case and lighter, and later, after she gave it to him, she would have his name engraved, and the date. She planned to give it to him the following evening, on Christmas Eve.

The driver helped them deposit all their loot in the front hallway and slowly Serena and Brad walked upstairs, arm in arm, as he looked down at her with pleasure again and she turned her face up to his with a look of amazement. Who was this man she had married? Was it possible that he had such means? She had not seen such riches since before the war. It made her wonder if his family would think she had married him for his money.

“Something wrong, Mrs. Fullerton?” He was anxious that she be cushioned from the harshness of his mother's cruelty.

“No, I was just thinking how lucky I am to have you.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you.” He stopped her then at the top of the stairs, and picked her up gently, enveloped in her new lynx, which she had insisted on wearing out of the store, her blond hair blending with it, almost the same color, and he carried her over the threshold of their bedroom.

“What are you doing?” She said it sleepily against his shoulder. It had been a long day, filled with emotions and excitement. Their wedding, his mother, their enormous wedding lunch, all the shopping … it was no wonder that she was exhausted.

“I'm carrying you over the threshold. It's an American custom, to celebrate the fact that we're newly married. I can also think of other ways to celebrate the same fact.” She giggled at him and he set her down on the bed and kissed her, and moments later the coat was shed, along with the rest of her clothes and they made love until they were both spent, and fell asleep peacefully in each other's arms. Marie-Rose sent up their dinner that night, on a tray on a dumbwaiter as Brad had suggested, but they never woke up after their lovemaking, or went to get the sandwiches and cocoa she had made them. They slept on like two children to each other's arms.

15

Two days later Serena awoke before her husband, and scampered quickly out of bed to find the two boxes she had concealed in her dressing room the night before. And as he looked at her, sleepy-eyed and happy, stretching lazily as she came toward him, he held out both arms.

“Come to me, my lovely wife.” She did so gladly, and held him for a moment, the presents still clutched in her hand.

“Merry Christmas, my darling.”

“Is it Christmas?” He feigned surprise and a lapse of memory as he pulled her back into bed beside him, her warm flesh smooth against his own. “Isn't it tomorrow?”

“Oh, shut up, you know it isn't!” She was giggling at him, remembering all of the wonderful gifts he had bought her. “Here, these are for you.”

This time his surprise was genuine. “When did you do that, Serena?” He had been so intent on his shopping for her that he hadn't noticed when she had purchased them at Cartier, while he bought her earrings. “You are a sneaky one, aren't you?”

“For a good cause. Go on, open them.”

He kissed her first, and then slowly unpacked the first present with an enervating lack of speed. He was teasing both her and himself and she laughed at him, until at last the wrapping fell away and the smooth silky beauty of the gold cigarette case lay in his hand.

“Serena! Baby, how could you?” He was shocked at the fortune she must have spent. He hadn't even known if she had that kind of money in her reserves. And he knew all too well that if she did he was now holding the last of it in his hand. But a gold cigarette case had always been, in Europe, a standard wedding gift for a young man, and an important one. It was the same wedding gift she would have bought him if her parents had been alive. The difference would have been, perhaps, sapphire initials, or an elaborate message engraved inside. And there might have been an additional gift of sapphire cuff links, or studs for his dinner jacket in black onyx with handsome diamonds sparkling inside. But Serena's gift of the simple gold case was both handsome and impressive and B.J. was touched beyond words as he leaned over to kiss his bride. “Darling, you're crazy!”

“About you.” She giggled happily and handed him the other gift, which he opened with equal delight.

“Good God, Serena, you spoiled me!” For a fraction of an instant the huge green eyes looked sad.

“I wish I could have spoiled you more. If—” But he took her in his arms before she went on.

“I wouldn't be happier than I am now. I couldn't be. You're the best present I've ever had.” And as he said it he disengaged himself slowly from her arms and hopped out of bed to go to his own chest of drawers in a far corner, as she watched him with interest.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh, I don't know. I thought maybe Santa Claus may have left something for you.” He looked over his naked shoulder with a broad grin.

“Are you crazy? After all the presents you bought me yesterday?”

But he was walking determinedly toward her, with a small silver-wrapped package in his hand. It had a narrow silver ribbon, and the box was intriguingly small as he extended it to her. “For you, darling.”

She shook her head with disapproval then. “I don't deserve more presents.”

“Yes, you deserve the best—you are the best. Got that?”

“Yes, sir.” She gave him a mock salute and her eyes grew enormous as she began to unwrap the present. Even the wrapping looked expensive, and the small black suede case looked more so, and when she opened it to reveal the shining black lining and what lay nestled on it, she could only gasp. Her hand trembled and she looked almost frightened as she saw it. “Oh, Brad!”

“Do you like it?” He took it quickly out of the box for her and reached for her trembling hand to put it on her. It was a flawless pink diamond, in an oval shape, surrounded by smaller white diamonds on a narrow gold band. The entire ring was of exquisite proportions and the color and brilliance of the ring were truly remarkable on her narrow, elegant hand.

“Oh, my God!” She was almost speechless as she stared at it. Even the size was right. “Oh, Brad!” Tears rapidly filled her eyes and he smiled at her, pleased that she was so obviously delighted.

“You deserve dozens like that, Serena. The Germans didn't leave much of that in Paris. When we get back to the States, we're going to buy what we can. Lovely things for you, pretty clothes, furs, lots of jewelry, hats, all the things that you'll enjoy. You'll be a princess—my princess—always.”

It seemed to Serena in the months that ensued that she merely passed her time all day wandering in the Bois de Boulogne, going to still-half-empty museums, looking aimlessly into shops, anxiously waiting for B.J. to come home at night. All she wanted was to see him, all that meant anything to her was her husband, and B.J. discovered in her a passion he had never even begun to suspect before. They spent hours together, lying side by side in their library, staring into the fire, talking and kissing and hugging and holding, and then racing each other upstairs like two kids. But they were far from being children once they got upstairs. Their lovemaking was expert and endless, as the winter drifted into the spring.

Brad was busy with his job, but there was far less to do now, the most pressing postwar problems had begun to be resolved, and the long-term ones wouldn't be completely taken care of for years. So what remained was a pleasant lull, a kind of easygoing limbo, in which he would actually daydream at his desk, meet his wife for lunch, go for long walks in the parks, and hurry home with her for another passionate adventure before returning to his desk.

“I can't go on meeting you like this.” He grinned at her sleepily one afternoon in May, as he lay in her arms, happy and spent.

“Why not? Do you think your wife will object?” Serena was grinning. And she looked more mature now than she had five months before when she had arrived in Paris on the train from Rome.

“My wife?” B.J. looked at her, her hair tousled. “Hell no, she's a sex maniac.” Serena laughed out loud. “Do you realize that I'm going to look sixty when I'm forty if we keep this up?” But he didn't look as though he minded, and Serena looked at him archly.

“Are you complaining, then?” But there was a strange gleam in her eye today, as though there were something she wasn't telling. He had thought that he noticed it when he first met her for lunch, but he had forgotten about it as they talked. Later he would press her about it. But first he had something to tell her. “Are you complaining, Colonel?”

“Not really. But I think you ought to know that I won't be able to do quite as much of this when we go back to the States.” His eyes were twinkling strangely and Serena cocked her head to one side.

“Is that true?”

He nodded but looked indecisive. “Well, Americans just don't behave like this, after all.”

“Don't they make love?” Serena looked mock-horrified, still with that wicked gleam in her eye.

“Never.”

“You're lying.”

“I am not.” He was grinning at her. “Hell, we can't go on making love like this when we go back. My lunch hours won't be as long.”

“Brad.” She suddenly looked at him strangely. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“Yes.” He nodded with a grin.

“What?” But she already thought she knew.

“We're going home, princess.”

“To the States?” She looked stunned. She had known that it would come eventually, but she hadn't thought it would be so soon. “To New York?”

“Only for a three-week leave. After that, my love, we go to the Presidio in San Francisco, and I become a full colonel. How do you like that, Mrs. Fullerton?” At thirty-four, Brad knew it was quite an accolade, and she knew it too.

“Brad!” She looked elated for him. “How wonderful! And San Francisco?”

“You'll love it. Not only that, but Teddy will be near us, since he's going to Stanford Med in the fall. And we'll even get home for Greg's wedding. That wraps it all up pretty nicely, wouldn't you say, my love?”

“More or less.” She lay back against their pillows again, with that same mysterious grin.

“More or less? I get promoted, we get sent home, we get one of the best posts in the country, and you say ‘more or less’? Serena, I ought to spank you.” He mockingly pulled her toward him to turn her over his knee, but she held out a hand.

“I wouldn't do that.” Her voice was oddly gentle and her eyes very bright, and something in her face made him stop pulling her toward him, as though he knew, as though he sensed it, even before she spoke.

“Why not?”

“Because I'm having a baby, Brad.” She said it so gently that it brought tears to his eyes, as he moved toward her and held her.

“Oh, darling.”

“I hope it's a boy.” She clung happily to him, and he shook his head firmly.

“A girl. One who looks just like you.”

“Don't you want a son?” She looked startled, but he was looking down at her as though she had just performed a miracle, not really concentrating on her words, just stunned by the total fulfillment he felt.

16

The car arrived to take them to Le Havre at eight o'clock in the morning. Their bags were packed and waiting in the front hall, and Marie-Rose and Pierre stood beside them, looking very starched and stiff and pale. Marie-Rose had been dabbing at her eyes ever since she had served Serena her breakfast tray that morning, and Pierre had the mournful look of a father losing his only son as he shook BJ.'s hand for a last time. It was the first time since before the war that they had cared so passionately for the people they had worked for, and the young couple who had inspired their love stood before them now, with regrets of their own. For B.J. it was the end of an era, the beginning of a whole other lifetime, as he knew only too well. During the war he had got lost, he had become someone new, found out who he was, in the anonymity of a uniform, with an ordinary name. Fullerton. It had meant nothing to anyone in the army. Fullerton? So what? But now he was going back to the States. Bradford Jarvis Fullerton III, and all that that entailed. He would see his mother, his father, his brothers, their friends, go to Greg's wedding, and attempt to explain to everyone why he was staying in the army, why it suited him, and why he no longer wanted out. He would have to justify why he didn't want to go into politics like his father, or work in the family law firm, why he was sure of his decision. And he knew as well that the silent question no one would dare ask, but which he would have to justify as well, was why he had married Serena. He felt so protective of her now as they left the safety of familiar turf in Europe. Particularly so now that she was carrying his child. But even if she hadn't been, he would have wanted to make the transition easy for her, and he knew that the first days of introduction to his mother would probably be very tense. After that he felt certain that even his indomitable mother would fall prey to Serena's charms. But even if she didn't, he didn't give a damn. His whole heart belonged to Serena now. And after all his army years his family seemed somehow less important, less real.

But all of it weighed heavily on Brad's mind that morning as he shook hands with Pierre and stooped to kiss Marie-Rose on both cheeks, as Serena had done only a moment before.

“You promise that you'll send a picture of the baby?” It was almost exactly the same thing Marcella had said the night before on the phone from Rome.

“We'll send dozens of pictures, I promise.” Serena squeezed her hand and afterward gently smoothed her own hand over the slight bulge in her lilac silk suit. Brad had already taken to feeling her stomach, to see if it had grown, almost daily, and she teased him about his fascination with his son. “My daughter,” he always corrected emphatically, and Serena laughed at him. She wanted a boy to carry on his name, but he always insisted that he didn't give a damn about the name, all he wanted was a little girl that looked just like her.

The Fullertons shook hands with the couple for a last time, and waved as the car drove away, and for an instant Serena leaned her head against Brad's shoulder as they drove down the Avenue Hoche toward L'étoile, and as she had in Rome, Serena found herself wondering when she would see these familiar sights again.

“Are you all right?” Brad looked at her with concern as he saw the serious expression in her eyes and wondered if she were feeling ill, but she nodded and smiled at him.

“I'm fine.” And then after another glance out the window, “I was just saying good-bye … again.”

He touched her hand and then held it gently in his own. “You've done a lot of that, my love.” He looked into her eyes. “Hopefully now we'll settle down and have a home. At least for a while.” He knew that it was possible that he might stay at the Presidio in San Francisco for as much as five years, or possibly even longer. “We'll make the house pretty for the baby and dig our heels in, I promise.” And then he glanced at her again as he spoke softly. “Will you be very homesick for all this, my love?”

“Paris?” She thought for a moment, but he shook his head.

“I mean all of it, not just Paris … Europe.”

“Yes. Brad, I was so afraid all the time, about the war, my grandmother, about ever getting back to Venice or Rome. I felt like a prisoner over there. Now everything will be different.” And the truth was that she had no one in Europe anymore. Other than Marcella, the only person Serena had was her husband, and she knew that her place was with him. She had called Marcella yesterday and told her that they were leaving. She had told her about the baby too, and Marcella was so happy that she laughed and cried. But she had refused Serena's invitation to go to the States with them. Serena had Brad now, and Marcella felt that she belonged in Rome. “It's different leaving this time.” She shrugged and he smiled, she looked suddenly very Italian. “I'm sad to go, but only because I know it here, because it's familiar, because I speak the language.”

“Don't be silly, you speak English almost as well as I do. As a matter of fact”—-he grinned at his wife—”better.”

“I don't mean that way. I mean they understand my life, my spirit, my soul. It's different in the States. People don't think the way we do.”

“No.” He thought about it as she said it. “They don't.” And he knew also that most people would not understand her background. They wouldn't even begin to guess at the beautiful things she'd been surrounded with as she grew up, the extraordinary sculptures and tapestries and paintings, the palaces in Venice and Rome that had been a matter of course to her as a child, the people she had known, the way she had lived. All of it was lost now, yet an enormous part of all that had stayed within her, woven into the fiber of her being. It made her gentle and cultured, and quiet and wise all at once, as though the beauty of all that she had known as a young girl had actually become a part of her. But B.J. had questioned for a long time how well all of that could be translated into his own culture. It was one of the reasons why he had been in no hurry to go back to the States. But now the moment had come, and in order to make the transition more gentle, he had arranged to take part of his leave on the way home. He had booked passage on the Liberté, which had just been awarded to France from Germany after the war, and he had arranged for a first-class cabin on one of the upper decks.

B.J. had decided against the boat train to Le Havre because he thought that the trip would be too tiring for Serena, and he preferred to have one of his orderlies drive them down quietly. That way they could stop whenever they wanted, and she would feel better when they reached the ship. As it happened, Serena had no problems on the trip down, it had been an easy pregnancy from the first, and after the first three months she felt even better than she had before. They chatted all the way from Paris, he talking to her about his old life in New York, his family, his old friends, while she told him tales about her years with the nuns. It seemed as though the trip passed very quickly, and suddenly they were at the quay, their suitcases were being taken out of the car by the driver, and a few moments later a steward was escorting them up the gangplank to their cabin, as Serena looked up at the ship in awe. This was nothing like the freighter she had taken from Dover in the company of dozens of refugee children and a handful of nuns. This was a luxury liner of the first order, and as she passed down beautifully paneled halls, glanced into red-velvet-draped staterooms, and looked at the other passengers as they boarded, she realized that this was going to be a very special trip.

Serena's eyes began to dance as she turned to her husband.

He looked at her expectantly, his own excitement showing in his eyes. He had gone to a great deal of trouble to arrange for their passage on the Liberté on such short notice, and it meant a great deal to him that the trip be something special for her. He wanted her entry into his world to go smoothly, and to begin happily, and he was going to do everything in his power to see that that was the case. He already knew that his brother's wedding was very possibly going to be a difficult moment, the confrontation with Pattie Atherton was not something that Brad was looking forward to, so at least before all that they would have a grand time.

“Do you like it?”

“Brad! …” She was whispering as they sedately followed the steward to their cabin, where they knew they would find the trunks they had sent ahead a few days before. “This is marvelous! It's —it's like a palazzo!” She giggled and he laughed and tucked her hand into his arm with obvious pleasure.

“Tonight I'll take you dancing.” And then his face clouded quickly. “Or shouldn't we do that?”

She laughed at him as they walked into the cabin. “Don't be silly. Your son will love it.”

“My daughter,” he said in hushed tones, and then they both stopped speaking, because the cabin they were standing in was so spectacular that it took them both by surprise. Everything was upholstered in either blue velvet or blue satin, the walls were paneled in a deep handsome mahogany, the furniture was of the same richly burnished wood, and everywhere were small brass ornaments and fixtures, beautiful little lanterns, handsome antique English mirrors, and large airy portholes rimmed in highly polished brass. It was the perfect spot for the honeymoon they had never taken, and the whole room had an aura of comfort and luxury that made one want to stay for a year, not a week. Their trunks were already neatly placed on racks in convenient places, and their suitcases were added to them now, as the steward made a neat bow.

“The maid will be along in a moment to help Madame unpack the suitcases.” He then indicated a huge bowl of fresh fruit, a plate of cookies, and a decanter of sherry on a narrow sideboard. “We will be serving lunch shortly after we sail at one o'clock, but in the meantime perhaps the Colonel and Madame would care for some refreshments?” It was all done to perfection, and they both looked enchanted as the steward bowed once more and left the room.

“Oh, darling, it's wonderful!” She catapulted into his arms and gave him a hug.

Brad looked immensely pleased. “It's even better than I thought. God, isn't this the way to travel?” He poured them both a small glass of sherry, handed her one, and lifted his in a toast. “To the most beautiful woman I know, the woman I love”—his eyes lit up in a warm smite—”and the mother of my daughter.”

“Son,” she corrected, as she always did now, with a grin.

“May your life in the States bring you happiness, my darling. Always and always.”

“Thank you.” She looked into the glass for just a moment, and then at him. “I know it will.” She took a sip, and then held up her glass to toast him. “To the man who has given me everything, and whom I love with all my heart… may you never regret bringing your war bride home.” There was something sad in her eyes as she said it, and he took her quickly in his arms.

“Don't say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I love you. And when you say things like that, you forget who you are. You can't ever forget who you really are, Serena. Principessa Serena.” He smiled gently at her, and she shook her head.

“I'm Mrs. Fullerton now, not ‘Principessa’ anything, and I like it that way.” And then after a moment's pause, “Don't you try to forget who you really are, Brad?” It was an impression she had had for several months now. She had begun to catch on to his game of anonymity, in staying both in the army and abroad. “Don't you really do the same thing I do?”

“Maybe.” He looked out the porthole for a long moment. “The truth is, where and who I come from has always been a burden to me, Serena.” He had never admitted that to anyone before, and it was an odd thing to admit to her now, just before they went home. “I've never quite fit. I've always been that old cliché, the ‘square peg in the round hole.’ I don't know why, but that's the way it's been. I don't think that either of my brothers feels that way. Teddy would fit anywhere, and Greg would force himself to, whether he did or not, but I can't do that. And I just don't believe in all that bullshit anymore. I never did. The values of people like Pattie Atherton, my mother, my father. Everything is for self-importance, for show. Nothing is ever done because it feels good, because it's what you want, because it means something. It's what looks good to everyone else that counts. I can't live like that anymore.”

“That's why you're staying in the army?”

“That's exactly why. Because I'm halfway decent at what I do in the army, I can live in some damn pleasant places, probably at a good healthy distance from New York, unless I get assigned to Washington at some point”—he rolled his eyes in mock horror —”and I don't have to try and play the family game anymore, Serena. I don't want to be B.J. Fullerton the Third. I want to be me, the First. Me, Brad, B.J., my own person, someone we can both respect. I don't have to go to my father's clubs or marry the daughter of my mother's friends to feel good about myself, Serena. I never did feel good about any of that, and now I know why. Because I just wasn't cut out for that. But you”—he looked at her tenderly—”you were born to be a princess. You can't run away from it, hide from it, change it, give it up, pretend it isn't there. It's you. Just like those splendid green eyes.”

“How do you know that I don't dislike it as much as you dislike what you were born to?”

“Because I know you. The only thing you don't like about it is being conspicuous, showy. You don't want to appear a snob. But you don't have basic differences with your very roots, Serena. You belong in that world, and if that world still existed, I would never have taken you from it, because right now America is a place where the people don't understand the kind of world you come from. But it's the best we've got, kiddo, and all we can do is explain it to them. And if they've got any smarts at all”—he smiled gently—”we won't have to explain a damn thing. Because what you are, the beauty and the grace and the goodness and the sheer elegance of it all is written all over you, principessa or no. It wouldn't matter if you called yourself Mrs. Jones, my love, you are a princess to your very soul.”

“That's silly.” She was smiling and blushing faintly in embarrassment. “If I hadn't told you, you'd never have known.”

“I certainly would.”

“You would not.” She was teasing him now and he set down his glass and took her in his arms in the beautiful blue velvet and mahogany cabin, and he kissed her hard on the mouth, and then swept her into his arms with one powerful gesture and deposited her on the room's large handsome bed.

“Don't move. I have to fix something.” She smiled at his retreating back as he marched to the door of the cabin, took off the Do Not Disturb sign, opened the door, and slipped it on the knob on the other side. “That ought to take care of the maid.” He turned to her with a broad grin, closed the curtains, and began to loosen his tie.

“And just what does that mean, Colonel?” She looked at him archly from the bed, every inch a princess, except that there was laughter bubbling over in her eyes.

“Just what do you think it means, Mrs. Fullerton?”

“In broad daylight? Here? Now?”

“Why not?” He sat down on the edge of the bed and kissed her again.

“Good God! I'll get pregnant.”

“Terrific. We'll have twin girls.”

“Oh, don't say—” But he never let her finish her sentence. His mouth was pressed down hard on hers and a moment later they had pulled back the handsome blue satin covers, to reveal white linen sheets with the monogram of the French line neatly embroidered in blue. The sheets were smooth and cool against her flesh, and his hands were warm on her breasts and her thighs as he pressed against her and she found herself hungering to feel him inside her. She moaned his name softly, and he ran his lips across her mouth and her eyes and her hair as his hands worked magic, and then suddenly, lunging toward her, he took her almost by surprise.

“Oh.” It was a single prolonged sound of astonishment and then pleasure, lost in a symphony of soft murmurs and moans, as the ship slowly left the dock and they began their voyage home.

17

The days on the Liberté flew too quickly. The weather was unusually good on the Atlantic, and even the usual June breezes never came up to plague them, as they lay in deck chairs side by side. Serena was only troubled once or twice by some vague queasiness before breakfast, but by the time they had eaten, taken a turn around the deck, played shuffleboard once, or chatted with some of the people they had met, Serena had always long since forgotten her malaise by then, and spent the rest of the day in total enjoyment. They usually lunched alone, retired to their cabin for a nap, and returned to the deck, before going in to change for tea, when they invariably met new people, spoke to some they had met in the days before, and listened to the chamber music. It all reminded Serena very much of her grandmother and their friends, the music they liked, the food they loved best, the grand meals, the formal dress, the gray lace dresses with pink satin underslips, with several rows of pearls and perfectly plain pumps of gray satin. It was none of it alien to her, and appeared to Serena to be part of a life she had once lived. But it was not unknown to B.J. either, and time and again they seemed to meet people whom his parents had known, or his uncles, or with whom they had mutual friends.

On the whole it was an easygoing, relaxed, delightful trip, and they were both sorry on the last night at the prospect of seeing their journey come to an end when they reached New York.

“Maybe we should just stow away and go back to Paris.”

“No.” She said it decidedly, propped up on one elbow in their bed after they made love. “I want to go to New York and meet your family, and then I want to see San Francisco, and all the cowboys and Indians. I think I'm going to like the Wild West.”

B.J. laughed openly at the visions she conjured. “The only thing wild about it is your imagination.”

“No cowboys or Indians? Not even one or two?”

“Not in San Francisco. We'll have to go to the Rockies to see cowboys.”

“Good.” She looked delighted as she kissed his neck. “Then we'll go there on a trip. Right?”

“And when do you plan to do all this, madame? Right up until you have the baby?”

“Of course. What do you expect me to do?” Now she looked amused. “Stay home and knit booties all the time?”

“Sounds about right to me.”

“Well, it doesn't to me. I want to do something, Brad.”

“Oh, God, save me.” He fell back among his pillows with a groan. “It's a Modern Woman. What do you want to do? Go out and work?”

“Why not? This is America. It's a democratic country. I could get involved in politics.” Her eyes twinkled a little and he held up a hand.

“That you could not! One woman like that in my family is enough, thank you. Figure out something else. Besides, dammit” —he looked only faintly annoyed as he knit his brows—”you're going to have a baby in six months. Can't you just relax and do that?”

“Maybe. But maybe I could do something else too. At least while I'm waiting.”

“We'll find you some nice volunteer work.” She nodded slowly in answer, but lately she had been thinking a great deal about San Francisco. Neither of them knew anyone there, and Brad would meet people on the base, but she wanted to be doing something too. She didn't want to just sit there, with her big belly, waiting. She said as much to him a minute later. “But why not?” He looked perplexed. “Isn't that what women do?”

“Not all women. There must be women who do something more than that while they're pregnant. You know”—she looked pensive for a moment—”the poor women in Italy work, they go out and work in the fields, in stores, in bakeries, at whatever they normally do, and one day, boom, out comes the baby, and that's that, off they go with the baby under their arm.” She smiled at the thought and he laughed again at the image.

“You have a certain way with words, my love. Is that what you want to do? Boom, out comes the baby, while you're working in the fields?”

She looked at him strangely then. “I was happy when I was working with Marcella.”

“Good God, Serena. That was awful, for chrissake, working as a maid in your parents' own home.”

“The idea was awful, but the work wasn't. It felt good. I felt as though I accomplished something every day. It wasn't that what I was doing was important, it was that I was doing a lot, and I was doing it well.” She looked like a proud little girl as she glanced at him. “I had a lot of responsibility, you know.”

He kissed the tip of her nose gently. “I know you did, little one. And you worked damn hard. Too hard. I don't ever want you to have to do something like that again.” He looked pleased at knowing that that would never happen. “And you won't. You're married to me now, darling. And about the only good thing about the Fullerton name is that it comes equipped with enough comfort to keep not only us but our children safe from that kind of hardship, for always.”

“That's nice to know.” But she didn't look overly impressed. “But I would have loved you even if you were poor.”

“I know you would, darling. But it's nice not to have to worry about that, isn't it?” She nodded slowly and snuggled into his arms, before they both fell asleep. Just before she did, she thought once more of her life in San Francisco, and knew that she wanted to do something more than just have a baby. The baby was wonderful and exciting, but she wanted to do something else too. She hadn't figured out what yet, but she knew that in time she would.

At six o'clock the next morning the steward knocked on their door, to let them know that they were coming into New York. They weren't going to be docking until 10 A.M., but it was customary to enter the harbor very early. After that there were the usual formalities to be handled, and every effort was made not to inconvenience passengers by docking too early. But there was something very special about passing the Statue of Liberty at sunrise, with the golden sunlight streaking across the sky and reflecting off her arm and torch and crown. It was a sight that rarely failed to stir intense feelings, and those who got up early enough to see her always felt a special bond with their country as the ship glided into port. Serena was moved beyond words as they passed the statue lighting her way to a new life.

Even B.J. was strangely silent. The last time he had come home had been only for a brief visit, on a military flight. This time he felt as though he were coming home from the wars at last, with his wife at his side, to the country he loved. It was a feeling of well-being and gratitude that welled up inside him like a sunburst, and he knew no other way to vent it but to take Serena in his arms and hold her tight.

“Welcome home, Serena.”

“Grazie.” She whispered softly to him as they kissed in the soft orange light of the June morning.

“We're going to have a beautiful life here, my darling.” It was a promise that he meant to keep for a lifetime, hers as well as his own.

“I know we will. And our baby too.”

He held her hand tightly, and they stood there for almost an hour, watching New York from the distance, as the ship hovered in the harbor, waiting for immigration officials and tugboats and clearances and red tape and all the rest of the brouhaha that always went with arrivals, but Serena and B.J. were oblivious to it all, they stood on deck, hand in hand, thinking of what lay ahead.

At precisely the same moment Brad's mother sat in her bed on Fifth Avenue, drinking a cup of coffee, her brows knit, her eyes dark, thinking of her oldest son and the woman he was bringing home. If she could have, she would have liked to force Brad to dispose of Serena as quickly as possible, but she had not yet come up with a reasonable suggestion as to how that could be done. She no longer had a hold on any of Brad's money, there was no job he depended on his family for now. In his own way he had flown the coop and now he was hovering above them, doing just what he wanted, in his own way, with this damned Italian tramp he was bringing home.… His mother set down her coffee cup with a clatter, pushed back the covers, and strode out of bed with a determined air.

18

As Serena stepped down the gangplank, walking ahead of Brad, she could feel her heart pound within her. What would they be like? What would they say? In her heart Serena held a glimmer of hope that Mrs. Fullerton—the other Mrs. Fullerton, she smiled to herself—would come around. The pressure of it all weighed on her like a thousand-pound weight as she stepped off the boat in a cream-colored linen suit, with an ivory silk blouse, and her hair done in the familiar figure-eight bun. She looked terribly young and strikingly lovely, and there was something so vulnerable and so fresh about her, like a white rose, standing alone in a crystal vase. One wanted to reach out and touch her, yet no one would have dared. Her white kid gloves were impeccable on her hands as she barely touched the railing, and she looked back once at Brad, and he could read everything in her eyes. He leaned toward her with a word of encouragement as they got closer to land.

“Don't look so worried. They won't attack you, I swear it.” To himself he silently added, “They wouldn't dare,” but in truth he knew that some of them would—his mother … Pattie … Greg, if he was under the influence of either of those women … his father? He wasn't sure. Only Teddy was someone that one could be sure of.

The steward had given her two very pretty gardenias as they left the ship that morning, and she was wearing them both on her lapel.

He could smell the rich fragrance as he walked behind her. “Cheer up, kid!”

She glanced back at him again, and this time he could see that she was pale with fear. It wasn't fair to put her through something like this, and for a moment he hated his mother. Why couldn't she have been some fat kindly old lady, instead of the sleek feline queen of the jungle that she was … a perfect panther, waiting to stalk her prey. B.J. could imagine her waiting, catlike and predatory, prowling the dock impatiently. He had to shake his head to rid himself of the image. But when they reached the section of the dock labeled F, in which they had to stand to wait for their trunks and meet the customs inspectors, Brad realized there was no one there to meet them. He saw neither of his parents and no familiar faces. It was a far cry from the raucous reception he had got at the airport a year before, and he felt an odd mixture of both disappointment and relief wash over him as he took Serena's hand.

“You can relax. They're not here.”

Her brows knit into a worried frown. “Don't you think they're coming?” Would they shun him entirely because of her? It was what she had feared all along, why at first she had insisted on not marrying him, and had stayed on to mourn him in Rome.

“For heaven's sake, Serena, you look like someone died. Stop that. They're probably just busy as hell with the damn wedding. We'll just take a cab and go to the house.” But even to him it seemed an oddly casual return after all this time.

And then he saw him, standing fifty yards away, watching them, a grin lighting up his face, making the blue eyes dance, Brad knew, without even seeing him closely. He could already imagine the little wrinkles near his eyes when he smiled. He had a way of smiling that lit up his whole face and made two deep dimples that had been his misery as a child. He was wearing white flannel slacks, a blue blazer, and a boater, and he looked wonderful to Brad as he hurried toward them. Suddenly all he wanted to do was hug him tight, but it was to Serena that Teddy was hurrying, a huge bouquet, of red roses tucked into his arms, the smile Brad loved lighting up his face, and his eyes only for her, like a long-lost brother or friend. He stopped dead in front of her, looking dumbstruck at her overwhelming elegance and beauty, and threw his arms around her, in a hug that took her breath away.

“Hello, Serena. Welcome home!” He said it with an emphasis and enthusiasm that brought smiles to their faces and tears to their eyes, and Serena returned his hug with equal strength as he held her. It was like being enfolded by someone one had always loved and wanted to be loved by. “I'm so glad you're both here.” He looked over her shoulder at his favorite brother, and Brad couldn't wait a moment longer. He threw his arms around them both, and they stood there, laughing and crying, the three of them locked in a bear hug and standing beside the huge ship that had brought them home.

It seemed ages before Teddy let her go, and she stood back to look up at the younger brother she had heard so much about. He was even taller than Brad, and in some ways better-looking, and yet not, she realized as she looked at their faces while they chattered eagerly about everything, the wedding, their parents, the trip. Brad's features were more perfect, his shoulders broader, and he seemed a great deal more sophisticated as she looked at her husband with pride. Yet Teddy had something special, and it was impossible not to see it. It was almost a kind of glow, a kind of excitement that lit up his soul and everyone who came within his sphere. There was a joy and a warmth and a love about him that bubbled over the edges and exploded like fireworks on the Fourth of July. It was impossible not to like him, not to want to reach out and become part of his life. And Serena felt the pull of it too as she stood back and watched him, but she felt something else as well, a wave of admiration from him that was so overpowering, she wasn't sure how to react. Despite the rapid-fire conversation between the brothers, Teddy hadn't taken his eyes off Serena since he'd arrived. And finally he spoke to her again.

“Serena, you are so beautiful?” He seemed knocked right off his feet and Serena could only laugh.

“Not only that,” her husband added, “she's a princess. How about that!”

“She looks it.” The younger brother said it with total seriousness, and Brad watched him with tenderness and amusement.

“Now, don't go falling in love with her, kiddo, I saw her first.”

But there was a kind of total overwhelming awe in Teddy's face that almost made you want to look away while he gazed at Serena.

“My God, you're lovely.” He couldn't take his eyes off her face, but it was Serena who broke the spell.

She whispered at him over the armful of roses he handed her after they embraced.

“Actually I'm not really Serena. I'm a girl Brad met on the ship and he asked me to take her place.”

“Cute though, isn't she?” Brad put a mildly possessive arm around his bride. After all, his brother was twelve years younger than he, and only three years older than his wife, he didn't want the boy to get carried away. “By the way, how is our charming sister-in-law-to-be?”

Teddy's sunny face clouded over for a long moment. “Fine, I guess.” His voice was both vague and subdued as Brad and Serena watched him. “Greg's been drunk every night for the past two weeks. I'm not sure what that's supposed to mean. Good times or terror?”

“Maybe a little of both.” Brad was watching his brother's eyes.

But Teddy was always honest with him. “I don't think Greg knows what he's doing, Brad. Or maybe he doesn't want to know, which is even worse.”

“Are you suggesting that someone stop this thing? Now?” Brad looked upset as he asked.

“I don't know. Mother's sure as hell not going to do it. Greg is rapidly becoming her great white hope. Ever since you've decided to become a professional soldier”—he looked disparagingly at his brother, but Brad only grinned—”and it's obvious that I'll never play the family game, it looks like Greg is it.”

“Poor kid.” For a moment Brad didn't say more, and then the customs officials arrived to check through their trunks and look at their passports. He asked for Teddy's as well, but Teddy quickly pulled out a special pass. One of his father's political friends had got it for him from the mayor of New York, and it allowed him to meet friends at ships, and not have to wait until they cleared customs. It was convenient at times like this, but the customs man felt patronized by Teddy's inadvertent show of rank.

“Special privileges, eh?”

Teddy looked mildly embarrassed. “Just this once. My brother hasn't been home since the war.” He waved at Brad, and the customs man's face immediately softened.

“Coming home on the Liberté, son? Not a bad way to travel.”

“Not at all. We managed to turn it into a honeymoon.”

“Your wife go over to meet you?” He had only checked the luggage. His partner had handled the passports and seen that Serena was Italian, but this man had no way of knowing. She hadn't said a word.

“No.” Brad looked down at her proudly. “I met my wife over there. In Rome.”

“Italian?” The customs man's eyes narrowed as he looked her over, in all her perfect ivory and golden beauty, the gardenias on her lapel, and the sun glinting on her hair, as he stood in his grayed uniform with spots on the tie and dirt under his nails.

“Yes, my wife is Italian. From Rome.” Brad repeated with a smile, as the other man began to glare.

“Plenty of girls in this country to marry, sonny. Or didn't you remember? Christ, some of you young guys got over there and forgot what was back home.” He glared at all three of them, and then hurried away to inspect someone else's bags. There was an angry light in Brad's eyes and blind fury in Teddy's, but Serena put a hand on each of their arms and shook her head.

“Don't. It doesn't matter. He's just an angry old man. Maybe someone jilted his daughter.”

“Maybe someone ought to smash his face.” Teddy was quick to volunteer but Brad looked as though he would have liked to help him.

“Never mind. Let's go home.” The two men exchanged a look, Brad sighed slowly and then nodded.

“Okay, princess, you win.” But he looked at her almost sadly. “This time.” And then he bent to kiss her. “I don't ever want anyone saying things like that around you again.”

“But they will.” It was only a whisper. “Maybe it'll take time.”

“Bull,” Teddy spoke and she laughed at him then, and they hailed a porter and began the final leg home.

19

Teddy had left his parents' chauffeur waiting patiently outside the pier area in the midnight-blue Cadillac limousine his father had bought for his wife's use the previous Christmas. But most of the time Margaret Fullerton still preferred driving her own car, a handsome bottle-green convertible Lincoln Zephyr, which she drove almost every day. To her sons' delight however, that left the Cadillac and the elderly chauffeur free for their use, and Greg made free use of the car, except when Teddy beat him to it, as he had today. His mother had had a meeting of the Board of the American Red Cross, final details to attend to for the rehearsal dinner the next day, and a luncheon with another board she was on, all of which had kept her from meeting Brad and Serena at the ship. And Greg had had an important meeting downtown with his father, which had left only Teddy to meet B.J. and his bride, in the elegant midnight-blue car.

“My, my, is this new?”

“Yup. A Christmas present from Pop.”

“For you?” Brad looked stunned.

“Hell no.” Teddy grinned. “For Mother.”

“Oh, well. That figures. Get to use it much or only for state occasions?”

“Only when Greg's not around.”

“That figures too.”

But before they could say more, the old chauffeur had got out of the car and was hurrying toward them. He pulled off his cap, and a smile lit up his face from ear to ear. He had worked for the Fullertons since Brad had been a little boy.

“Hi, Jimmie!” B.J. clapped him on the shoulder and the old man chortled with delight and hugged him.

“You look good, boy. Good to see you back!”

“It's good to be back.” There was genuine pleasure between the two men. “Jimmie, I'd like you to meet my wife.” He turned to Serena with obvious pride and the old man almost dropped his jaw when he saw the blond beauty.

“Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Fullerton.” He mustered it almost shyly, and she shook his hand warmly, with her gentle smile that extended deep into the emerald eyes.

“Brad has told me a great deal about you.”

“Has he?” Jimmie looked immensely pleased. “Welcome to America.” He narrowed his eyes. “You speak very good English. Have you been here before?”

She nodded. “I was here during the war. In Upstate New York.”

“That's a good thing.” Jimmie smiled warmly.

Serena gave him an answering smile and he waved them all inside the car. “I'll take care of this mess. You kids relax.” But only Teddy and Serena got inside the car, and Brad stayed out to help his old buddy sort through their assorted trunks and belongings.

Inside, Teddy still seemed unable to take his eyes off Serena. “How was the trip over?” He wasn't quite sure where to begin, and it was so odd being alone with her. He just wanted to reach out and touch her, but it was different now with Brad not there with him. He wanted to touch the creamy skin, the extraordinary golden hair, and then suddenly he felt a mad urge to kiss her, but not as a brother, or even as a friend. As the thought crossed his mind he flushed deeply and a thin veil of perspiration broke out on his forehead.

“Are you all right?” Serena was looking at him strangely. “Are you ill?”

“No … I… I'm sorry … I don't know … I just… I think it's just excitement. Seeing Brad back, meeting you, Greg getting married, graduating last week.” He wiped his brow with a white linen handkerchief and sat back beside her. “Now, where were we?” But all he could think of was that face, those eyes. It was almost as though they bore through him. He had never seen a woman as lovely as this.

But Serena was looking at him gently, her face riveted with concern and unspoken understanding. “Please …” She faltered for only a moment. “You're upset about me, aren't you? Is it so great a shock? Am I so different really?” She sounded almost consumed with distress and guilt.

But Teddy nodded slowly. “Yes, you are. But not in the way you think. Serena,” he sighed and reached for her hand. What the hell. Brad wouldn't kill him. “You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and if you weren't my brother's wife, I'd ask you to marry me right this minute!” For a moment she thought he was joking, and then she saw something almost heartbreaking in his eyes. Her own eyes widened in surprise as she looked at him.

“Making time with my wife, little brother?” B.J. opened the door of the elegant limousine and hopped inside with a casual look of unconcern which belied the faint tremor he had felt while he busied himself outside. Teddy had always been the best-looking of the brothers, and he was certainly more her age, but that was crazy thinking and he knew it. Serena was his wife, she loved him, and she was having his child.

But Teddy only laughed and shook his head as he ran a hand through his hair. “I think you just saved me from making a total ass of myself, Brad.”

“Want me to get out so you can try again?”

“No!” Teddy and Serena said it in unison, and with that they looked at each other, and both of them began to laugh, like hysterical children, and the uncomfortable moment was broken. They laughed half the way home, suddenly began teasing each other and Brad, and the friendship began in earnest that morning.

Teddy gave them a brief rundown of what the wedding would be like, what was expected of them, and who was coming to the rehearsal dinner. Brad already knew that he was going to be the best man, and Teddy was an usher. In addition there were to be ten other ushers, eleven bridesmaids and a maid of honor, two children as ring bearer and flower girl, and the ceremony was to be at St. James Church on Madison Avenue, with an enormous reception at the Plaza Hotel, immediately thereafter. It was expected to be a grandiose affair and the Athertons were spending a fortune.

The rehearsal dinner, on the other hand, was being given at their father's club, the Knickerbocker, and there were to be a mere forty-five guests, in black tie, for a formal dinner.

“Oh, Christ.” Brad groaned aloud. “When's that again?”

“Tomorrow.”

“And tonight? Can we have some time to ourselves, or do we have to perform some other tribal dance with the whole troupe?”

“Mother's planning a small family dinner. Just Mother and Dad, Greg and I, and of course Pattie.” A flicker of worry showed in Teddy's eyes.

“That ought to be cozy.” The last time Pattie had seen Serena she had called her a whore, and he had broken their engagement, and not even a year had gone by since then.

A moment later they pulled up in front of the awning of their building, and the doorman rushed forward to open the door, as Jimmie stepped out to take over.

“Is Mother upstairs?” Brad wanted the meeting over with. His eyes bored into Teddy's, as if trying to take support and energy from his younger brother to help protect and buffer his wife.

“Not yet. She won't be home till three. We'll have the place to ourselves, while Serena gets acquainted.” It was a kind of blessing. Serena meekly followed her husband and brother-in-law inside, into a richly paneled, tapestry-hung lobby, with high ceilings and marble floors, immense plants, and a chandelier worthy of Versailles twinkling down at them.

Brad and Ted whisked her into the elevator and up to the top floor, where the hallway led to a single apartment, the penthouse overlooking Central Park, where all three boys had grown up, and which sent a little shiver of excitement down Brad's spine now as Teddy unlocked the door and stood aside for them to enter. Two maids in black uniforms with lace aprons and caps were frantically dusting the main hallway. It was paneled in extraordinarily beautiful Japanese screens, the floors were a harlequin black and white marble, and here again was a beautiful chandelier, but this one much more so than the one in the lobby. It was a Waterford piece, over two hundred years old, and a work of art in itself, which matched the elaborate sconces along the walls. The whole entrance reminded Serena of a brilliantly lit ballroom. The maids were quick to welcome Brad home, and they went off to report to the cook that he was back, and he promised to go out to the kitchen to see her in a minute. But first he wanted to show Serena the apartment where he had grown up.

In its own way it reminded her of the palazzo. It was smaller of course, and it was after all an apartment, yet it had a grandiose quality to it more typical of a house, and the way it was decorated looked not unlike the assorted homes in which she had grown up. There were delicately shaded Aubusson rugs, damask drapes, and rich brocades, a grand piano in the library, as well as three walls of rare books, and in the dining room there was an impressive collection of family portraits. The living room was subtle and lovely and very French. There were two Renoirs and a Monet, a great deal of Louis XV, rivers of white silk and gray damask, accented with a little dusty rose, and vast quantities of gilt and marble. It was certainly not a “little apartment” by anyone's standards, and its main virtue in Serena's mind was that it gave her the impression she had already seen it before. It was just like all the palazzi she had known as a child. It was in better condition, and there were some very fine things, some even lovelier than what she had seen in Venice, and yet it had that familiar ring that one finds in Paris and London and New York and Rome, Munich or Barcelona or Lisbon or Madrid, the look of a vastly expensive home filled with priceless things, the rich gilts of Louis XV, the needlepoint scenes of Aubusson, the shapes and the colors and the smells that all looked so familiar. It was almost as though she wanted to sigh in relief and say, “It's all right, I've already been here.” Teddy had noticed the look of relief on her face and immediately teased her.

“What did you expect? Lions and tigers and a woman with a whip and a chair?”

But Serena laughed at him. “Not quite, but …” There was teasing in her face as well.

“Close, huh? Well, you're in luck. We only feed the Christians to the lions on Tuesday. You're two days late.”

“It's a beautiful place.”

Brad was looking around him as though seeing it for the first time, and he smiled at them both. “You know, I'd forgotten how nice it all is.” It had been ten months since he'd been home on leave, and that had been so hectic mat he'd never noticed his home the whole time he was there.

“Welcome home, Big Brother.”

“Thanks, kid.” He squeezed his younger brother's shoulder, and put an arm gently around his wife. “You all right, sweetheart? Not too tired?” Just the way he said it warned Teddy of something.

“Something wrong?” He looked at them both worriedly and Brad shook his head with a smile, but there was a look in his eyes that Teddy had never seen there before, a look of tenderness and pride and excitement. “What's up? Or am I being nosy?”

“I guess not. I wanted to tell everyone tonight. But I'd like to tell you first.” He had a right now to hear this first. B.J. reached for Serena's hand and smiled at Teddy. “We're having a baby.”

“Already?” Teddy looked stunned. “When?”

“Not for another six months, or six and a half, to be exact.” Brad looked teasing. “It's decent. We've been married for six months now.”

“I didn't mean that.” Teddy looked embarrassed and then glanced at Serena. “It just seems so soon.”

“It is soon, and I'm glad. I'm not as young as you are. I don't want to waste any time, and Serena's happy too.” He beamed at her again and Teddy smiled as he watched them.

“I think I'm sick with jealousy, but the weird thing is, you know, I'm not even sure I mind.”

B.J. laughed at the candor of his younger brother and all three of them chuckled together. Something very odd had happened between the three of them that day. A new bond had formed between two people who had already loved each other all of their lives and they had managed to include in it a whole other person. It was as though the three of them stood within a magic circle, and they knew it.

“Boy, I'm gonna be an uncle!” He began to whoop, Serena laughed, and B.J. tried futilely to get him to quiet down.

“Don't tell the whole household yet, for chrissake. I want to tell Mother first. Think she's ready to be a grandmother yet, Teddy?”

There was a long silence as the two brothers exchanged a pointed glance. “I'm not sure.”

Only Serena had said nothing in the past few minutes, since they had begun to talk about the baby. “Are you feeling all right, Serena?” Now suddenly Teddy shared B.J.'s concern, and she laughed at them both.

“Yes, I'm fine. Perfect. Terrific.”

“That's good,” and then with another mischievous dimpled grin, “Too bad you can't wait two years to have it, I might be able to deliver the baby.”

“That's a thrill we can live without,” Brad filled in quickly. “But at least you'll be out there to share the big moment with us.” It pleased Brad to know that his little brother would be living in San Francisco too, or very near it. For four years he was going to Stanford University Medical School, and he hoped that they would see a lot of each other. He told him so now, and Teddy nodded his head emphatically.

“Especially now. I want to come and see my nephew.”

“Nope.” Brad looked strangely firm.

“Nope?” It was Teddy's turn to look surprised. “I can't see him?”

“You can see her. It's a niece.”

“A niece? You want a girl?” He looked shocked. “That's unnatural! Aren't men in our family supposed to be all worked up about continuing the name?”

“Yup, and I'm going to have a daughter and she's going to marry a guy named Obadiah Farthingblitz and I'm going to be happy as hell for her at her wedding.”

“You're nuts. In fact”—he looked from one to the other—”I suspect that you both are. Which may be your salvation. You know, I think we're going to have some damn fine times in California, guys.”

“Will you come and see us often, Teddy?” Serena looked at him warmly.

“As often as you'll let me. I'll be out in September for med school. Meanwhile I'm going to Newport this summer to do whatever damage I can do there. I'm stopping in Chicago on the way out, and I should reach you by the last week in August. I'll come and stay.” He said it with the assurance of family, and Brad laughed.

With that, the three of them swept into the kitchen, greeted the cook, stole some cookies, tasted some asparagus, sniffed at a mysterious stock that Brad swore smelled like turkey, and moments later they departed and took refuge in Brad's old study. It now belonged to Teddy, and they reminisced as they ate narrow little watercress sandwiches on delicate white bread and drank lemonade. It was a pleasant way to while away the afternoon, waiting for the rest of the family to return, and shortly after lunch Serena fell asleep on the couch. Both men were happy she slept, tense as both knew the next hours would be for everyone. Something had already told Brad, now that he was back on home turf, that none of it was going to be easy. Before he had come back to this house, he had been able to vacillate about what he thought would happen, how his mother would behave. He had tried to play a game with himself that he could no longer play here. His mother's very strength made itself felt so clearly in this house that it was impossible to delude oneself about her for a moment. This was not going to be easy in any way. What Margaret Fullerton had wanted Brad to bring home as his wife was a girl like the thousands of debutantes he had met over the years, a girl more or less like Pattie Atherton, she didn't want a principessa from Rome as her daughter-in-law. She didn't give a damn about that. She wanted the daughter of one of her friends at the Colony Club, someone who went to the same places they did, knew the same people, did the same things. And there was one undeniable thing about Serena that Brad knew would never sit well with his mother: Serena was totally different. It was what he loved about her, what had already captivated Teddy in only a few hours. She was not an ordinary sort of girl in any way. She was extraordinary in every possible way. She was spectacular, beautiful, smart as hell, but she wouldn't fit into the New York, Stork Club, 21, Colony Club mold. And more than ever, as he looked at his peacefully sleeping aristocratic Italian bride, Brad realized to his very gut that there was going to be trouble.

20

Margaret Fullerton came home that afternoon at exactly three fifteen, looking precisely as she had when she left the house that morning. Impeccable and elegant, in a pearl-gray silk suit from Chanel with a dusty-rose silk blouse and matching lining in her jacket. She wore delicate gray kid shoes, gray stockings, a small gray lizard bag, and her smoothly coiffed white hair looked as perfect as it had at eight o'clock that morning. As was her usual routine, she came in, greeted the servants, set down her handbag and gloves on a large silver tray in the front hall, glanced at the mail carefully laid out by one of the maids, and walked into the library.

There, she would, as a matter of course, either ring for tea, or make some phone calls in answer to the list of messages always neatly left on her desk by the butler. But this afternoon she knew that Brad was coming home. She wasn't entirely sure if they were back yet or not, and she was sorry that she had been unable to meet him, but she sat in the library now, looked at her watch with a feeling of anticipation, and rang for the butler. He appeared in the doorway a minute later with a look of expectation.

“Yes, ma'am?”

“Is my son here, Mike?”

“Yes, ma'am. Two of them. Mr. Theodore is here, and also Mr. Bradford.” Mike had been with them for almost thirty years.

“Where are they?”

“Upstairs. In Mr. Theodore's den. Should I call them?”

“No.” She stood up quietly. “I'll go to them. Are they alone?” She looked hopeful. As though Serena might already have been disposed of. But the butler carefully shook his head.

“No, ma'am. Mrs. Fullerton—Mrs. Bradford Fullerton,” he explained, “is with them.” Margaret Fullerton's eyes raged, but she only nodded.

“I see. Thank you, Mike. I'll go up in a moment.” She had to think now, just for a minute, of what she was going to say and how she was going to say it. She had to handle it right or Brad would be lost to her for good.

She also knew that Teddy would have to be kept in the dark. She had already made the mistake of telling him what she had in mind. It had been a stupid thing to do and she knew it, her youngest son had a warm heart and dreamy eyes, and his philosophies about life belonged in a romantic novel, not in a real world filled with opportunists and fools, and little Italian tramps after her son's fortune.

Margaret Hastings Fullerton had been orphaned at twenty-two, when both her parents had been killed in a train collision abroad. They left her with an enormous fortune. She had been well counseled by the partners in her father's law firm and a year later she had married Charles Fullerton and merged her fortune with his. Hers had been born of the country's steel mills, and had been sweetened over the years with important land holdings and the acquisition of numerous banks. Charles Fullerton, on the other hand, was of a family whose money had been derived from more genteel sources. They had made a fortune in tea in the previous century, had added to it enormous profits from coffee, had huge holdings in Brazil and Argentina, England and France, Ceylon and the Far East. It was a fortune that had boggled even her mind, and Margaret Hastings Fullerton didn't boggle easily. She had always had a remarkable understanding of the financial world, a fascination with politics and international affairs, and had her parents lived, her father would probably have seen to it that she married a diplomat or a statesman, possibly even the President of the United States. As it was, she met Charles Fullerton instead, the only son of Bradford Jarvis Fullerton n. Charles had three sisters, all of whose husbands had gone to work for Charles's father. They traveled extensively and constantly throughout the world, managed the companies well and satisfied the old man in all possible ways, except one. They were not his sons, and Charles was, but Charles had no interest whatsoever in inheriting his father's throne at the head of the empire. He wanted a quiet life, to practice law, to travel as little as possible, and to reap the fruits of all that his father and grandfather had created. It was Margaret who found the Fullerton investments fascinating, who wanted him to join the others, and eventually take over the firm. But she knew within months of their marriage that there was no hope of that. She was married to one of the country's richest men, and he didn't give a damn about the excitement of how that fortune had been created. Her plans for him, as well as his father's, went awry, and he had his own way in the end. He joined several friends from law school, formed his own firm, and practiced law in his own quiet way. He had none of the flamboyance or ambition of his forebears. Nor did he have the steely drive of his wife, who in truth was much like his father. She and the old man had got along famously until he died, and it was she who had truly mourned when the empire was sold off bit by bit. Gone were the vast holdings in exotic countries, gone the dreams that one day Charles would change his mind and take his place in charge of it all, gone her hopes of being the force behind the throne.

She had turned her ambitions then from international business to politics. And here, for a brief time, she had succeeded. She had managed to convince Charles that what he wanted most in life was a seat in the Senate. It would enhance his career, help his law firm, delight his wife and friends, and she assured him that it was everything he wanted. In truth, he had found it tedious and boring, he had disliked spending time in Washington, and he had refused to run again when his term came to an end. With relief he had returned to his law firm in New York, leaving Margaret with no illusions and few dreams. He had carved a niche for himself that he wanted, a quiet spot behind a desk in New York, and he wanted nothing more. If it was not enough for her, it was nonetheless more than adequate for him. All that remained for Margaret Fullerton was to turn her hopes toward her sons.

Bradford was certainly the most enterprising of her sons, but like his father, he was untractable and did exactly as he wished. None of the jobs he had had so far had been what Margaret would have called important, he refused to use the connections he had, and although he had some interest in politics, she was beginning to doubt that it was enough ambition in that direction to make him alter the course of his life. What he wanted, not unlike his father, Margaret had often thought with dismay, was a life that was “pleasant” and meant something to him. He had no interest in power, as she saw it, industry or commerce on a grand scale, or an empire like that of his ancestors. Greg, on the other hand, was a great deal more malleable. Though he was not as bright as Brad, in him she saw more hope, and by marrying a congressman's daughter, he would certainly be in the right circle to pursue politics if that was the direction in which he was pushed. And Margaret knew that she could count on Pattie to get Greg moving.

Teddy was another matter entirely, and Margaret had known that about her youngest child, almost from the day he was born. Theodore Harper Fullerton moved at his own pace, in his own time, in precisely the direction he wanted. He had his mother's drive, but in none of the same veins. And now he was about to pursue his career in medicine with the same kind of energy and determination that she would have had, if she had had a career of her own. One couldn't help but respect Teddy, but she steered clear of him too. He was not someone she could influence, or even move at times, and it was with him that she locked horns constantly. They disagreed about everything, from politics to the weather. Particularly this recent business about Brad's little harlot from Rome. She had told the entire family exactly what she thought about that nonsense, and more specifically she had told her husband precisely what she thought needed to be done. It was a shame that nothing could be done before he brought her to New York, but with Greg's wedding coming so quickly, she didn't have time to go to Paris to see them. She would just have to take care of it when they came to New York. And she was sure that there would be no problem. It was obvious that the girl was after his money, from what Pattie had said, but it still wasn't too late to buy her off. They would pay her passage back to Europe, give her a handsome sum to unload her, and the annulment proceedings would be begun at once. If she was smart and willing to cooperate, Brad didn't even have to know about their arrangement. All she had to tell him was that she had changed her mind about everything and was going home.

As Margaret made her way upstairs now to Teddy's den, she thought about the papers in her desk downstairs. It would all be so simple. She had thought about it again all that morning, and it was a relief to know that the matter was almost at an end. Her intense desire to get rid of Serena had eclipsed almost all else lately. She had scarcely thought about the wedding, and it had taken some of the joy away from the thrill of seeing Brad home. It was part of why she hadn't gone to the ship to meet him. She just wanted to unload Serena, and then she could enjoy having her oldest boy home. She was already planning a trip to San Francisco in the fall to see him. She wanted to visit Teddy at Stanford, and she could see Brad at the same time, in his new post at the Presidio. Besides, she had old friends there, and knew that she would have a pleasant time. The thought of the prospective trip warmed her, as she stood silently for a moment, as though girding her strength, and then with a small determined smile, she knocked on the door.

“Yes?” The voice was Teddy's, and there was laughter within. She could hear a woman's voice, and Brad's deep voice and soft laughter as she answered.

“It's me, dear. May I come in?”

“Of course.” The words were spoken as Teddy pulled open the door, looking down at his mother, a smile still lighting his eyes. But the smile faded quickly once he saw her. He felt an immediate tension pass between them, and he felt an instant desire to protect Serena. “Come in, Mother. Brad and Serena are here.” He made a point of including her too. “We've been waiting for you to arrive.”

She nodded, stepped swiftly into the room, and, an instant later, stood facing her oldest child. She stopped and didn't move toward him, but there was obvious emotion in her eyes. “Hello, Brad.”

Without any sign of strain he moved toward her and gave her a warm hug. “Hello, Mother.” She clung to him possessively for just a moment, and then stepped back, with a mist of tears in her eyes.

“My God, it's good to have you home safe and sound.”

“Yup, here I am, all in one piece. Home from the wars at last.” He grinned cheerfully at her, and then stepped aside and with a single loving gesture he waved to the tall, graceful blond woman standing just behind him in the ivory silk suit, with the enormous emerald eyes. “I'd like you to meet my wife, Mother. Serena, this is my mother.” He executed a stiff little bow, and for an instant there was no movement whatsoever in the cozy room. There was total and absolute silence, as though everyone was holding his breath while the two women met, but it was Serena who broke the ice. She came forward very quickly, with a graceful hand extended and a nervous but friendly smile.

“Mrs. Fullerton, how do you do?” She looked exquisite as she stood there, and the older woman's eyes seemed to narrow as she looked Serena over carefully from head to foot. “I'm very happy to meet you.”

Margaret Fullerton put forth her hand, with a look of ice. “How do you do? I hope you had a pleasant trip.” There was no suggestion that this was her daughter-in-law she was meeting for the first time. She was a total stranger, and Margaret intended to see that nothing changed that. “Sorry not to meet you at the ship, Brad.” She turned toward her son with a smile. “I got bogged down with things, and I thought I'd leave that honor to Teddy. But we'll all have dinner together tonight. And tomorrow.” She ignored Serena completely in her description of their plans. “And then of course on Saturday there's the wedding. You've got a rehearsal for it tomorrow, and half a dozen other things. You'll have to stop in to see your father's tailor in the morning. He used your old measurements for a cutaway and striped trousers, but you'd better let him check you over quickly tomorrow, while he can still make some changes before it's too late.”

“Fine.” There were fine lines of tension around Brad's eyes. He didn't give a damn about the cutaway and striped trousers. He wanted his mother to give some sign that she had accepted his wife. “What about the three of us having lunch tomorrow, quietly somewhere?”

“Darling, I can't. You can imagine how mad everything is just before the wedding.” Her eyes gave nothing away, but Brad felt his whole body go tense.

“Isn't all of that supposed to be the Athertons' problem? I thought the bride's mother was the one with all the headaches.”

“I have the rehearsal dinner to arrange tomorrow night.”

“Well, then afterward we'll spend some time together.” He wasn't pleading, but he was asking, and as he listened to his older brother, Teddy began to ache inside. He could see exactly what his mother was doing. Just as she had managed not to go to the boat, now she was avoiding them again. What in hell was she doing? he wondered. Trying to pretend that Serena didn't exist, or was there a reason for her behaving this way? Teddy had an unpleasant feeling that something they would all regret was about to happen.

“I'll do my best, dear.” His mother's voice was noncommittal. “Have you seen your father?”

“Not yet.” It had occurred to Brad as well that no one except Teddy had put himself out to welcome him back and meet Serena, and he was slowly sorry that he had made the time to come home on their way to San Francisco. They could have gone to Rome to say their good-byes there, or wandered around Europe for a couple of weeks before flying home and merely changed planes in New York.

But maybe he should give them more of a chance, he decided. It was a hectic time for them all, and he couldn't expect everyone to drop what they were doing just for him. But it was not for himself that he cared about it, it was for Serena. Already he could see something wary in her eyes as he glanced at her.

“You'll be at dinner with us tonight, won't you, Brad?” His mother gazed at him, as though he were the only one included in the invitation.

“Yes.” He looked at her pointedly. “We both will. And which room do you want us in, by the way?”

For only an instant his mother looked annoyed. He was forcing her to deal with the issue of Serena, and it was the last thing she wanted to do at that point in time. But she realized that, for the moment at least, there was no avoiding it. “I think the blue room would be fine. How long are you staying, dear?” She looked only at her son and never once at the girl.

“For two weeks, until we leave for San Francisco.”

“That's marvelous.” She turned then, glanced searchingly at Serena, and then looked back at Brad. “I have a few details to take care of, darling. I'll see you in a little while.” And then, unexpectedly, she looked back at Serena and spoke to her with great care. “I think perhaps it would be a good idea if you and I spent a little time together. If you could come to my boudoir for half an hour before dinner, I think we might speak alone.” Serena nodded immediately and Brad looked surprised. Maybe the old girl was making an effort after all, he decided, perhaps he had wronged her.

“I'll show her where it is, Mother.” For an instant Brad looked pleased, but unnoticed by the others, there was terror in Teddy's eyes.

Their mother left them a few minutes later and Teddy looked strangely worried. Brad teased him about it, and Serena sat down with a long nervous sigh, staring at them both.

“Why do you suppose she wants to see me alone?” Serena looked worried, and her husband smiled.

“She just wants to get to know you. Don't let her intimidate you, love. We've got nothing to hide.”

“Should I tell her about the baby?”

“Why not?” Brad looked proudly at her and they exchanged a smile, but Teddy was quick to intervene.

“No, don't.” They both looked at him, startled, and he blushed.

“Christ, why not?” B.J. looked almost annoyed. He had only been home for a few hours, and he was already feeling unnerved by his family. What odd people they were, he remembered now, and all the intrigues and plots and tensions and insults. His mother always kept them all at fever pitch, and it annoyed him severely to become a part of that again now. “Why shouldn't Serena tell her?”

“Why don't you tell her together?”

“What difference does it make?”

“I'm not sure. But she might say something to upset Serena.” Brad thought about it for a moment and then nodded.

“All right. Anyway”—he looked pointedly at his wife—”don't let the old bag push you around, love. Just be yourself and she won't be able to resist you.” He bent down to give her a hug and thought that he could almost feel her tremble. “You're not afraid of her, are you?”

Serena thought about it for a moment and then nodded at him. “Yes, I think I am. She's a very striking, very strong woman.” She had also been much prettier than Serena had expected, and much tougher. Serena had never met anyone quite like her. Her grandmother had been a strong woman, but in a much purer sense. Her grandmother had had quiet strength and determination. Margaret Fullerton had something different. One sensed instantly about her that she used her strength to get what she wanted, and perhaps in ways that were occasionally ugly. There was something that ran just under the surface of Margaret Fullerton that was as cold as ice and as hard as nails.

“There's nothing to be afraid of, Serena.” He said it gently as he pulled her off the couch and prepared to take her to the blue room, where his mother had said they would be staying, and as Teddy followed them upstairs he was praying that his brother was right.

21

As it turned out, Brad was still in the tub at the hour of Serena's appointed meeting with his mother. And the butler led the way downstairs, down a hall with walls covered with small exquisite paintings, three tiny Corots, a small Cézanne, a Pissarro, two Renoir sketches, a Cassatt. The paintings were beautifully framed and hung as though in an art gallery, with excellent lighting, against wonderfully draped taupe velvet walls. The carpeting beneath her feet was thick and of the same pale mocha color, it was in sharp contrast to the marble floors she was so used to in Rome and Venice and Paris. The softness of the carpeting beneath her feet in the Fullertons' apartment felt as though she were walking on clouds. The furniture was all handsome and quiet, there was a great deal of Queen Anne, some Chippendale, some Hepplewhite, and a few quiet Louis XV pieces, but everywhere were rich woods and subdued colors. There was none of the gilt and marble of the richer Louis XV pieces or the Grecian-inspired Louis XVI. The Fullerton apartment was done in excellent taste, with the best of everything in evidence in rich abundance, but none of it was showy. Even the colors Margaret had chosen for her home were soft beiges, warm browns, ivory shades, and here and there a deep green or a restful blue. There were no peaches or rubies or brilliant greens. It was a whole other look than the Renaissance splendors of the palazzi Serena had known, which she had to admit that she still liked better. Yet this had a certain warmth to it, and it was all as elegant and restrained as Margaret Fullerton herself.

When the butler stopped at her boudoir door, he stepped aside for Serena to knock, and then bowed rapidly and disappeared as Serena entered. She found her mother-in-law sitting in a small room at a beautiful little oval table, a butler's tray from the era of George III, with a drink in her hand, and a heavily carved crystal decanter and another glass on a silver tray, waiting for Serena's arrival. There was a large portrait over the small ivory couch on which she sat, and the man in it wore a huge mustache and pince-nez, over dark turn-of-the-century clothes, and his eyes seemed to leap out of the portrait and ask a thousand questions.

“My husband's grandfather,” she explained as Serena felt his eyes on her and glanced toward the painting. “He is responsible for almost everything that your husband has.” She spoke pointedly, as though Serena would understand her, and to the young Italian girl standing before her, it seemed a very odd thing to say. “Please sit down.” Serena did as she was told, and sat very primly on the edge of a small Queen Anne chair, in the black velvet dress she had chosen for dinner. It had a low square neckline and broad straps, a slim skirt, and over it she wore a short white satin jacket. It was a suit that Brad had bought her just before they left Paris, and Serena knew that she wouldn't be able to wear it for much longer. Her ever growing waistline would soon refuse to be restricted by the small waist of the dress. But for tonight it was perfect, and she wore it with pearl earrings and her pearl necklace, and she looked very grown-up and very pretty as Margaret Fullerton looked her over again. Even she had to admit that the girl was pretty, but that wasn't the point. The fact was that if she didn't go back to Europe she was going to destroy Brad's life. “Would you care for a drink?” Serena shook her head quickly. The baby had made it impossible, in recent weeks, to even so much as sniff wine.

While Margaret poured herself a drink, Serena studied her. She was an amazingly distinguished-looking woman, and tonight she wore a rich sapphire-colored silk dress, set off by a handsome necklace of sapphires and diamonds, which her husband had bought her at Cartier's in Paris after the first world war. Serena's eyes were held for a long moment by the necklace, and then her glance shifted to the enormous sapphire earrings, and the matching bracelet on her arm. With an assumption of understanding, Margaret Fullerton nodded and decided that it was time to make her move. “Serena, I'm going to be very candid with you. I don't think that there's any reason for us to mince words. I understand from—from friends”—Margaret Fullerton hesitated for only a moment—”that you met Brad while you were working for him in Rome. Am I correct?”

“Yes, I—I got the job when I came back to Rome.”

“That must have been a fortunate circumstance for you.”

“At the time it was. I had no one left in Rome, except”—she struggled for a way to explain Marcella—”an old friend.”

“I see. Then the job at the palazzo must have been a godsend.” She smiled, but her eyes were frighteningly cold.

“It was. And so was your son.”

Margaret Fullerton almost visibly flinched, as the young woman sat very straight in her chair, the pretty ivory face framed by the collar of the white satin jacket, her eyes bright, her hair brushed until it shone. It was difficult to find fault with Serena, but Margaret was not to be fooled by appearances. She already knew exactly what she thought of this girl. She went on now with a look of determination.

“That was exactly the impression I had, Serena. That you needed Brad's help, and he came to your rescue, perhaps in getting you out of Italy. All of which is quite admirable of him, and perhaps even very romantic. But I think that getting married may have been carrying things more than a little bit too far, don't you?” For an instant Serena didn't know what to say, and whatever came to mind, Margaret did not give her the chance to say it. “We all know that men sometimes get involved in unusual situations during wartime, but”—her eyes blazed for a moment as she set down her glass—”it was mad of him to bring you home.”

“I see.” Serena seemed to shrink visibly in her chair. “I thought that perhaps … when we met—”

“What did you think? That I'd be fooled? Hardly. You're a very pretty girl, Serena. We both know that. But all that nonsense about being a princess is precisely that. You were a charwoman working for the American army, and you latched onto a good thing. The only unfortunate thing is that you weren't smart enough to know when to let go.” For an instant Serena looked as though she had been slapped. There were tears in her eyes as she sat back in her chair, and Margaret Fullerton stood up and went to her desk. She returned a moment later with a small folder, sat down again on the small couch, and looked at Serena squarely. “I'm going to be frank with you. If what you wanted was to get out of Italy, you've done that. If you want to stay in the States, I'll see to it that that is arranged. You can settle yourself anywhere in this country, except of course where Brad lives, which means neither San Francisco, nor here. If you want to go back to Europe, I will arrange for immediate passage back. In either case, after you sign these papers, annulment proceedings will be initiated by his father's law firm at once, and you will be rewarded handsomely for your trouble.” Margaret Fullerton looked matter-of-fact and not the least bit embarrassed by what she had just said to Serena.