To Love Again (20 page)

She should have known Corbett was not Natasha's type. He couldn't be handled easily enough. She looked at herself in the mirror then, angrily, and whispered, Is that what you want? She didn't, of course. She knew she didn't Not a stockbroker in horn-rimmed glasses. Ah, then it's a beautiful one you want. She accused herself as she softly closed the door. No! No! was her answer. But what did she want then? Amadeo, of course. Only Amadeo. But as she thought it, a brief vision of Corbett flashed into her head.

That night she walked farther than she ever had, her hands jammed into her pockets, her chin tucked into the collar of the coat. What was it she wanted? Suddenly she wasn't sure. She wandered more slowly past the now too familiar shops. Why didn't they change the windows more often? Didn't anyone care? And didn't they know that they were still using last year's colors? And why wasn't it spring? She found fault with all of it as she pushed the vision of Natasha repeatedly out of her head. Was that it then? Was she only jealous? But why shouldn't Natasha have a good time? She worked hard. She was a good friend. She had opened her home and her heart to Isabella as no one ever had. What more could she possibly want from her? To keep her locked at home the way she herself was?

Suddenly, in spite of herself, she knew the answer only too well. It wasn't Natasha's imprisonment she wanted, but some freedom of her own. That was all. She dug her hands farther into her pockets, jammed her chin even farther down, and walked on endlessly until, for the first time, she was downtown. No longer in the cozy, residential safety of the sixties; or the distinguished sobriety of the seventies; or even the decorous boredom of the eighties; not to mention the dubious, shabby gentility of the nineties, where she had now and then strayed; but the other way this time, past the bustling fifties, its restaurants, its excited diners, its screeching taxis, and its far larger shops. Past department stores with overdone windows, and Tiffany's with its glittering goodies, Rockefeller Center with its still hopeful skaters, and St. Patrick's with its lofty spires. She walked all the way down to Forty-second Street, to the office buildings, the less fashionable stores, and the drunks. Everything seemed to be careening past her at a speed that reminded her of Rome. At last she turned back toward Park Avenue, and past Grand Central Station, she stood looking straight up Park. Lined on either side of her were skyscrapers, towering monuments of glass and chrome, where fortunes were aspired to, ambitions fulfilled. It took her breath away as she stared at them; the tops of the buildings seemed to lead straight to heaven. Slowly, thoughtfully, Isabella walked home.

She felt as though she had opened a new door that night and there was no way she could close it again. She had been crouching, hidden in a maze, locked behind an apartment door, pretending that she was living in a village far from the city's excitement. But she had seen too much that night, felt the nearness of power, success, money, excitement, ambition. By the time Natasha came home, she had made up her mind.

What are you still doing up, Isabella? I thought you'd have been asleep for hours. She had seen the light in the living room and wandered in, puzzled.

Isabella shook her head briefly, smiling a little at her friend. You look wonderful tonight, Natasha.

Thanks to you. Everyone loved the gold in my hair; they couldn't figure out how I'd done it.

Did you tell them?

No.

Good. She was still smiling. One has to have a few secrets after all.

Natasha watched her, worried. Something had changed tonight. There was something about the way Isabella sat there, about the way she looked, and the way she smiled. Did you go out for a walk tonight?

Yes.

How was it? Did anything go wrong? Why did she look like that? There was something peculiar about her eyes.

Of course not. Why would anything go wrong? It hasn't yet.

And it won't. As long as you're careful.

Ah, yes. She looked wistful. That. She suddenly raised her head with a look of power and grace that suggested that she should have been the one wearing the gold threads in her hair. Natasha, when are you going out again?

Not for a few days. Why? Dammit. She was probably lonely and bored. Who wouldn't have been? Particularly Isabella. As a matter of fact I was thinking of staying home for the rest of the week, with you and the boys.

How dull.

That was it then. Natasha should have known. She had gotten too swept up in it all again, taken Isabella too much at her word.

Not at all, silly. In fact she yawned prettily if I don't stop running around like this, I'm going to roll over and die. But Isabella was laughing at her, and Natasha didn't understand.

What about the film premiere you were supposed to attend day after tomorrow?

What film premiere? Natasha widened her eyes and looked spectacularly dumb, but Isabella only laughed more.

The one on Thursday. Remember? The benefit for the heart foundation or whatever it is!

Oh, that. I thought I wouldn't go.

Good. I use your ticket. She sat back and almost crowed.

What? I hope you're kidding.

No, I'm not. Want to get me a ticket? She grinned at Natasha and crossed her legs under her on the couch.

Are you nuts?

No. I walked downtown tonight, and it was wonderful. Natasha, I can't do this anymore.

You have to. You know you have no choice.

Nonsense. In a city the size of this one? No one will know me. I'm not saying I'm going to start parading around, going to fashion shows, and having lunch. But some things I can do. It's insane to hide like this here.

It would be insane not to.

You're wrong. At something like your film premiere I can slip in and slip out. After the cocktails, the gathering. I can just watch the movie and the people as I come and go. What do you think? That I can design clothes for women of fashion without setting foot out of my house and getting a feeling for what's working, what isn't, what they like, what looks good on them, without even seeing what's being worn? I'm not a mystic, you know. I'm a designer. It's a very down-to-earth trade.

But the speech wasn't convincing, and Natasha only shook her head.

I can't do it. I can't. Something will happen. Isabella, you're mad.

Not yet. But I will be. Soon. If I don't start getting out. Discreetly. With caution. But I can't go on like this for much longer. I realized that tonight. Natasha looked woebegone, and Isabella patted her hand.

Please, Natasha, no one even suspects that it's not I at the top of the house in Rome.

They will if you start showing up at film premieres.

I promise you, they won't. Will you get me the ticket? She suddenly wore the pleading eyes of a child.

I'll think about it.

If you don't, I'll get it myself. Or I'll go somewhere else. Somewhere out in the open, where I'm sure to be seen. For a moment her dark eyes glinted viciously, and Natasha's own blue ones suddenly blazed.

Don't blackmail me, dammit! She jumped to her feet and paced around the room.

Then will you help me? Please, Natasha ' please' .

At the sound of her friend's words Natasha turned slowly to face her again, looked at the haunted eyes, the narrow, pale face, and even she had to admit that Natasha needed more than the apartment and an occasional walk up Madison Avenue in the dark. I'll see. But Isabella was tired of the game now; her eyes caught on fire and she jumped to her feet.

Don't bother, Natasha. I'll take care of the matter myself. She marched toward the back of the house. In a moment Natasha heard her close her door. Slowly she turned off the lights in the living room and looked at the city outside. Even at two in the morning, it was alive, busy, bustling; there were trucks, taxis, people; there were still horns and voices, excitement and turmoil outside. It was why people flocked to New York, why they couldn't stay away. She herself knew that she needed what it gave her, needed to feel its tempo beating like the pulse in her veins. How could she deny it to Isabella? But perhaps in not denying it to her, if the kidnappers found her again, she could cost Isabella her life. On silent feet Natasha walked slowly down the hall. She stood outside Isabella's doorway and then gently knocked. The door opened quickly, and the two women stood there, silent, face to face. It was Natasha who spoke first.

Don't do it, Isabella. It's too dangerous. It's wrong.

Tell me that when you have lived like this, in terror, in hiding, for as long as I have. Tell me you'd be able to go on.

But Natasha couldn't tell her that. No one could.

You've been very brave, Isabella, and for such a long time.

Brave ' for just a little while longer. The echo of Amadeo's words caught Isabella unexpectedly and lodged in her throat. With tears in her eyes she shook her head. I haven't.

Yes, you have. They were still whispering. You've been brave and patient and wise. Can you be for a little while longer?

Isabella almost cried out at the words as frantically she shook her head from side to side, whispering to Amadeo, as well as her friend. No. No, I can't And then she stood very straight, very tall, and looked at Natasha boldly, the tears suddenly gone. I can't be brave for a little while longer. I've done this for as long as I can.

And Thursday?

Isabella looked at her, smiling slowly. The premiere? I'll be there.

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

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

In Paris last year.

Very handsome.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don't like it? Isabella was stunned.

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

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

I should be so lucky. And you?