Part 21 (1/2)

She watched him over lunch in her office. For only a moment he wanted to touch her hand. He wanted to free her from this hideous spell, to a.s.sure himself that she was still human, to reach out to her. But he wasn't sure if anyone could anymore, not even he. The only time her voice warmed was on the phone with Alessandro; she had promised him in her phone call that morning that she was coming home soon.

We stand remarkably well, Isabella. Bernardo let the moment pa.s.s with a small sigh. Considering the kind of changes we're making, I'd say you've done splendidly. We ought to be able to set up offices in New York in another month.

That means late July, early August. It'll do. And then came the final question. The one he'd been dreading for weeks. And you?

He hesitated for a long moment, and at last he shook his head. I can't. She stopped eating, put her fork down, and stared. For an instant she looked like the old Isabella, and he was almost relieved.

Why not?

I've thought about it. But it would never work. She waited in silence while he went on. You're ready to run it by yourself. You understand the business as well as I do, better in fact than even Amadeo did. I don't know if you realize that.

That's not true.

Yes, it is. He smiled at her, and she was touched. And I wouldn't be happy in New York. I want to be in Rome, Isabella.

And do what?

Something will come along. The right thing. In time. I might even take a long vacation, go somewhere, spend a year in Greece.

You're crazy. You couldn't live without the business.

Everything has to come to an end.

She looked at him thoughtfully. Nothing is forever.

Precisely.

Will you think about it for a while longer?

He almost agreed to it and then he shook his head again. It was pointless. It was over. No, cara, I won't. I don't want to live in New York. As you said when you got here, it's enough.

I wasn't referring to you.

I know that. But it's time for me now. Suddenly, as he looked at her, there were tears in her eyes. The drawn, tired face with the big black eyes crumpled. He moved to sit next to her on the leather couch and took her in his arms. Non piange, Bellezza. Isabellezza.' Don't cry.

Isabellezza. ' At the sound of the word she turned her head and broke into sobs.

Oh, Bernardo, there is no Isabellezza anymore.

There will always be. For me. I will never forget those times, Isabella. Nor will you.

But they're over. Everything's changed.

It has to change. You're right to change it. The only thing you're wrong to change is you.

But I'm so confused. She stopped for a moment to blow her nose in his handkerchief as he gently ran a hand over her dark hair.

I know you are. You don't trust anyone anymore. It's natural after what happened. But now you have to put it away. You have to stop before you let it destroy you. Amadeo is gone, Isabella. But you can't let yourself die too.

Why not? She looked like a heartbroken little girl as she sat next to him and blew her nose again.

Because you're too special, Bellezza. It would break my heart if you stayed like this, angry, unhappy, distrustful of everyone. Please, Isabella, you have to open up and try again.

She didn't tell him that she had done that and been hurt more than she ever had before.

I don't know, Bernardo. So much has changed in the last year.

But you'll see. You'll find in time that some of them have been good changes too. You're making the right decision taking the business to America.

I hope so.

What are you doing about the villa, by the way?

I'll start packing up next week.

You're taking everything with you?

Not all of it. Some things I'll leave here.

Can I help you?

Slowly she nodded. It would make it much easier. I've- -I've been afraid to go back.

He only nodded and smiled as she blew her nose for a last time.

Chapter TWENTY-FOUR.

The car turned into the gravel driveway and came to a halt outside the familiar front door. Isabella looked at it thoughtfully for a moment before she stepped out. The house looked larger to her somehow, and the grounds seemed strangely quiet. For a moment it was like returning from a long trip. She expected to glimpse Alessandro's face at the window and then a minute later see him come bounding out to meet her, but he didn't. No one came. Nothing stirred.

Bernardo stood soundlessly behind her as she began to walk slowly toward the house. In the five weeks that she had been in Rome, she had never come out here. In a way, in her heart, she hadn't really been back. She had come to Rome to minister to her business. But this was something different, something private, a piece of the past. And she herself had known that she wasn't ready to see it. Now that she was back again, she was grateful that she wasn't alone. She glanced over her shoulder then with a soft smile, remembering Bernardo. But the dark eyes weren't smiling; they looked unhappy and distant as she looked around her and then rang the bell. She had her key with her but she didn't want to use it. It was like visiting someone else now. Someone she had once been.

Bernardo watched as a maid opened the door and Isabella stepped inside. He had warned them. Signora di San Gregorio was coming home. The information was met with trepidation and excitement: with Alessandro? Forever? There had been a flurry of planning what rooms to open, what meals to prepare. But Bernardo had been quick to dispel the illusions. She won't be staying there, and she will be alone. Alessandro was still in America. And then he had dealt the last blow. She'll be closing the house.

But it wasn't the same anymore anyway. The central figures of the household were already gone. Mamma Teresa had left in April, understanding at last that her charge would be gone for too long. Bernardo had spoken to her openly, the risks were too great. He would be gone for a year maybe, perhaps a little less, or probably more. She had gone to a family in Bologna, with three daughters and two little boys. She had never quite recovered from the way Isabella had left her, without even warning her that she was taking Alessandro away from her, in the dark of night, leaving his bed empty and his room locked, and the woman who had protected and loved him far behind. Luisa had taken a job for the summer in San Remo, with people for whom she had worked once before. And Enzo had retired; his room in the garage was empty. The three stars of the household had long since tearfully gone. Now there were only the lesser lights to help Isabella.

Bernardo had ordered countless boxes, which had been left in the front hall. Isabella saw them as soon as she entered. Silently she stood and looked at them, but her eyes drifted away from them. She seemed to be waiting for familiar noises, for sounds she had heard there, for voices that were no more. Bernardo watched her, hanging carefully back. She put down her light linen jacket and began to walk slowly down the long hall. Her footsteps rang out emptily. Had it only been five months since the night she'd fled with Alessandro? Five months since she had crept down that hall, collecting suitcases and Alessandro in his red sleepers, whispering sshhh and promising adventure? Are we going to Africa, Mamma? She smiled to herself and wandered into the living room. She glanced at the blue Faberg+! clock that she had looked at so intently that night she had waited for Amadeo, when they were expected for dinner at the Principessa's house the night he had been so late, the night he had disappeared. She sat down heavily on the chaise longue near the window, staring emptily at Bernardo.

I don't even know where to begin. Her eyes were full and heavy, and he nodded, understanding.

It's all right, Bellezza. We'll do it slowly, room by room.

It will take years. She looked out to the garden. The carousel she had given Alessandro for Christmas was shrouded in canvas, its chimes and music silent. Tears came to her eyes, but she smiled.

Bernardo watched her, remembering that night, as he was. He fumbled in his pocket and pulled something out that he held in his hand.

I never gave you this last Christmas. I was afraid it would make you too unhappy if I gave you a gift. Christmas with Amadeo had always been an extravaganza, jewelry and funny objects, little treasures and remarkable books she had coveted, tiny wonders she had always loved. There had been no way Bernardo could have made that up to her, and he had been afraid to even try. But he had gone to Alfredo Paccioli and he had bought her something that now, five months later, he held out to her. I felt awful afterwards not giving you anything. Silently he felt for the now familiar pocket watch that had been Amadeo's. He always wore it.