Part 3 (1/2)

The woman hesitated, but this time only for a moment Very well. There was something desperate about the woman, something frighteningly crazy about her eyes as she kept s.h.i.+fting her handbag higher up on her shoulder. For an insane moment the young woman prayed that this oddly disheveled stranger was not carrying a gun. But in that case there was all the more reason to summon Mr. Paccioli from inside. She walked down a long narrow hall, leaving Isabella alone with two blue-uniformed guards. And she returned in less than a minute, with Alfredo Paccioli walking hurriedly at her side. He was somewhere in his early sixties, almost bald, with a delicate white fringe that matched his mustache and somehow accented his laughing blue eyes.

Isabella, cara, come stai? Shopping for something to show with the collections?

But she only shook her head. May I speak to you for a moment?

Of course. He looked at her more closely then and didn't like what he saw. Something was terribly wrong with her. As though she were very ill, or perhaps a little bit mad. What she did a moment later almost confirmed it as she silently yanked open the brown bag and pulled the silk-wrapped bundle out, spilling its contents on his desk.

I want to sell it. All of it. Then had she gone mad? Or was it a fight with Amadeo? Had he been unfaithful? What in G.o.d's name was wrong?

Isabella ' dearest ' you can't mean it. But that that piece has been in your family for years. He gazed in horror at the emeralds, the diamonds, the rubies, the ring he had sold to Amadeo only months before.

I have to. Don't ask me why. Please. Alfredo, I need you. Just do it.

Are you serious? Had their business gone suddenly bad?

Absolutely. And he could see now that she was neither ill nor insane, but something was very seriously, desperately wrong.

It may take a little time. He lovingly fingered the exquisite pieces, thinking of finding each one a home. But it was not a task that he relished. It was like selling family or auctioning off a child. Is there truly no other way?

None. And I don't have any time. Give me whatever you can for them now. Yourself. And don't discuss this with anyone. No one. It's a matter of ' it's ' oh, G.o.d, Alfredo, please. You must help me. Her eyes filled suddenly with tears, and he reached out a hand as his eyes questioned hers.

I'm almost afraid to ask. Twice before something like this had happened. Once, a year before. And the second time only a week before. It had been horrible' terrible ' and it hadn't worked.

Don't ask. I can't answer you. Just help me. Please.

All right. All right. How much do you need? Ten million dollars. Oh, G.o.d.

You can't give me what I need. Just give me what you can. In cash.

He looked startled and then nodded. I can give you he made a rapid calculation of the cash he had available at the time perhaps two hundred thousand today. And perhaps the same again in a week.

Can't you give it all to me today? She looked desperate again, and for a moment he wondered if she might faint on his desk.

I can't, Isabella. We just made an enormous purchase in the Far East. All of our main a.s.sets are in stones right now. And quite obviously that's not what you want. He glanced down at the small mountain of diamonds and then back into her eyes with a thought. Suddenly he felt as frightened as she. Her desperation was contagious. Can you wait a minute while I make some calls?

To whom? Her eyes were instantly filled with terror, and he saw her hands shake again.

Trust me. To some colleagues, some friends. Perhaps among us we can come up with some more money. And ' Isabella' . He hesitated, but he thought he had understood. It must be ' cash?

Yes.

Then he was right. Now his own hands shook. I'll do what I can. He sat down next to her, picked up the phone, and called five or six friends. Jewelers, furriers, one somewhat shady banker, a professional gambler who had been a customer and become a friend. Among all of them he could come up with another three hundred thousand dollars in cash. He told her and she nodded. That gave her five hundred thousand. Half a million dollars. It was one twentieth of what they wanted. Five percent. His eyes sought hers with a look of sorrow. Won't that help? He found himself praying that it would.

It will have to. How do I get it?

I'll send a courier out immediately. I'll take what I think we need in jewels for the other jewelers. She watched dispa.s.sionately as he took a few pieces. When he took the diamond, she bit her lip to hold back the tears. Nothing mattered only Amadeo.

This should do it. I should have the money here in an hour. Can you wait?

She nodded tersely. Send your messenger out the back door.

I'm being watched?

No. I am. But my car is out front, and they may be watching who leaves here. He asked no further questions. There was no need.

Do you want some coffee while you wait? She only shook her head, and he left her after gently patting her arm. He felt so helpless and he was. She sat in solitary silence for a little over an hour, waiting, thinking, trying not to let her mind drift back to the agonizingly tender moments they had shared. Thinking back to first times and last times, and funny times, to seeing him with tiny Alessandro in his arms for the first time; to their first collection, which they presented with outrageous courage and delight; to their honeymoon; their first vacation; their first house; and the first time they had made love, and the last time only four days before' . They tore at her heart in a way she couldn't bear. The moments and voices and faces crowded into her head as she attempted to push them away, as she felt panic rising in her soul. It was an endless hour until at last Alfredo Paccioli returned. The exact amount was in a long brown envelope. Five hundred thousand dollars in cash.

Thank you, Alfredo. I will be grateful to you all my life. And Amadeo's. It wasn't ten million. But it was a start. If the police were right, and the kidnappers were indeed amateurs, perhaps even half a million would look good to them. It would have to. It was all she had now that all the accounts were frozen.

Isabella ' is there is there anything I can do?

Silently she shook her head, opened the door, and strode out, hurrying past the young woman at the desk, who was pleasantly bidding her good day, and then as she heard her, Isabella stopped.

What did you say?

I said, good morning, Mrs. di San Gregorio. I heard Mister Paccioli mention collections and I realized that you were ' I'm sorry ' I didn't recognize you at first ' I You didn't. Isabella turned on her fiercely. You didn't recognize me, because I was never here. Is that clear?

Yes ' yes ' I'm sorry' . Good G.o.d, the woman was truly mad. But there was something else about her too. Something ' the bag ' it didn't look so heavy now. She swung it over her shoulder as though it were suddenly light. What had she had in there that had been so important and so heavy?

Did you understand me? Isabella was still staring at the receptionist, the exhaustion of three sleepless nights making her indeed look crazy. Because if you didn't, if you tell anyone, anyone that I was here, you will be out of a job. Permanently. I'll see to it.

I understand. So she was selling her jewelry then. The b.i.t.c.h. The young woman nodded politely as Isabella hurried out the door.

Isabella had Enzo drive her straight home. She sat waiting for hours by the phone. She never moved. She just sat there in her bedroom, behind a locked door. An inquiry about lunch from Louise brought only a terse no. The vigil wore on. They had to call. It was Monday. They wanted the money by the next day. They would have to tell her where to leave it and precisely when.

But by seven that evening they still hadn't called. She had heard Alessandro clattering through the halls and the voice of Mamma Teresa admonis.h.i.+ng him to remember that his mother had the flu. And then all was silent again, until at last there came a fierce banging on the door.

Let me in. It was Bernardo.

Leave me alone. She didn't want him in the room if they should call. She wouldn't even tell him about the jewelry. He'd probably tell the police. And she'd had enough of that nonsense. She was taking care of it now. She could promise them a million dollars half tomorrow, the other half by next week.

Isabella, I have to talk to you. Please.

I'm busy.

I don't care. Please. I must ' there's something I I have to show you. For a moment she heard his voice crack.

And then she told him, Slip it under the door.

It was the evening paper. Page five. Isabella di San Gregorio was seen at Paccioli's today ' It described what she had worn, how she had looked and almost every item she had just sold. But how? Who? Alfredo? And then she knew. The girl. The eager little b.i.t.c.h at the desk. Isabella's heart dropped as she unlocked the door.

Bernardo was standing there, crying silently, staring at the floor.

Why did you do that?

I had to. But suddenly her voice was flat. If it was in the papers, then the kidnappers would know too. And they would know more: that if she was selling her jewelry, her accounts were probably frozen. They would know that she had told the police. Oh, no.

They said nothing more to each other. Bernardo simply walked into the room and silently took his place by the phone.