Lovers (54 page)

I really can’t, Billy thought incredulously. I’m going mad just thinking about it but I can’t move in your direction, damn it to hell, because I’m not the person I used to be … I’ve lost her … but I’ve found someone else … who needs her? … Someone who realizes that this is the first time we’ve ever been alone together in any honest way, someone who knows that some of the thrill is gone, now that Sam knows who I really am, and I know he knows. Would I … could I … do the things that Honey would have done? Or would I be worrying about Spider? Would Sam stop me from thinking about Spider Elliott? Could I ever possibly love him that much?

“You
can’t?
Is that because you still love your husband?”

“It looks that way, doesn’t it?”

“How far away is that lucky bastard?”

“Six thousand miles.”

“I guess that gives me my answer. We’re here, just you and me, here alone, across a continent and an ocean. He’d never know anything about it, would he? You’d never tell him … you’re the world’s best liar … but you can’t. Because you can’t—no other reason. Because, basically, you don’t want to enough.”

“That’s the way it goes.”

“Just my luck.” Sam stood up to go.

“I’ll let you out,” Billy said. “The gate’s tricky unless you know how.”

“Just keep your distance, lady.”

“Sam—I’m sorry.”

“We’re both sorry, but the timing’s wrong. Our timing always was.”

As they crossed the courtyard, Sam looked down at Billy walking several paces away from him. He’d never get over her, not completely, but now … at least he had a fighting chance. At least he knew she loved her husband.

“Billy, one thing, did it ever once occur to you that I could never have worked without natural light? That those magnificent stables would have been like a dark, gloomy
prison cell to me, that I actually love walking up five flights to get to a loft where the daylight’s pouring in?”

“I never thought … I was an idiot! But you could have kept your old studio—”

“Don’t you remember how I used to get up in the morning and start working as soon as it was light, before breakfast, often for hours at a time? I still work that way, all I have to do is throw on overalls and walk around the corner.”

“I certainly took too much for granted.”

“Only that. No big deal.”

“Actually it was a big deal … it was incredibly thoughtless of me.”

“Don’t waste any time on it—it never happened anyhow. Will you kiss me good-bye? Billy, Honey, love of my life?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ve been called a lot of things in my day, but not utterly stupid, Sam darling. At least not recently, not … in the last week.” Billy laughed softly and closed the gate behind her.

A
s soon as the Gulfstream had reached cruising altitude on its return trip to California, Gigi lay back in her seat and closed her eyes, her mind returning to the actual plans of the
Winthrop Emerald
, which she had learned to read and understand during the past week under the tutelage of Renzo Montegardini. It had been agreed that in order for her to know what copy points were the most important, she should be thoroughly conversant with the entire layout of the ship.

“The lowest deck a passenger will ever see is the Capricorn Deck, where they board,” Montegardini informed her. “This formerly was the top deck of the ship when it was a freighter. Now it is mainly given to officers’ accommodations, the galley, and the restaurant, so that diners will have the impression of eating as close to the ocean as possible. Also, since it is low and central, there is the added advantage of maximum stability.”

“How do people decide where they want to sit at dinner?” Gigi asked.

“They make their own arrangements during the day, depending on their mood. The maitre d’hotel will comply with any request, from a table for two to a table for twelve, and dinner reservations may be made anytime from seven-thirty until nine-thirty, so that the restaurant can close at eleven-thirty.”

“Is there a captain’s table?” Gigi asked.

“But without fail. Unless there is a captain’s table, where would the captain eat? Each night he will invite a different group of people to sit with him, unlike the old days of tradition, when the same people dined at the captain’s table every night. Now look here, Graziella Giovanna, on the next deck up, the Gemini Deck, we have the first of the suites that make this ship different from all others. There are fourteen suites on each side of the central corridor of the ship, each one of them five hundred and sixty feet square. Suites are located on three of the five new decks, eighty-four of them in all, plus the owner’s suite. The
Winthrop Emerald
, when full, can carry a maximum—a maximum, mind you well—of only one hundred and seventy passengers, plus an additional hundred and forty in crew. Normally a ship this size would carry more than twice that many passengers, with perhaps a few suites.”

This girl disturbed him, Renzo Montegardini admitted to himself with the wryness of a man thirty years older than Gigi, a man of sophistication, a man to whom many opportunities had been offered by women, and many accepted with mutual pleasure. She took away his peace of mind, this girl who coiled herself over the blueprints with such a submissive desire to be instructed, her jeweled eyes alive with excitement through the black velvet fans of her lashes that were so deliciously artificial. As he outlined the floor plan of a suite with his architect’s precision, he imagined that her shoulder would be as burning to the touch as her small nose would be cool.

“Each suite,” he said with resignation, thinking of Ben Winthrop, “is made up of two rooms side by side. You walk in through a short hall, on each side of which is a pale pink marble bathroom and a walk-in closet with a safe for valuables. To cover the walls I used a combination of pale woods and tone-on-tone brocades in lighthearted pastels, which I specified should be quilted for extra soundproofing. I used inset strips of floor-to-ceiling mirrors extensively, to expand the space and reflect the sea.”

“What about the portholes?” Gigi asked.

“Cara
colleague,” the naval architect said in shock, “in the crew’s quarters, yes, many portholes, but in the suites I have designed floor-to-ceiling windows over which, at the touch of a button, a lightproof shutter falls at night, so the late sleeper is not disturbed. Portholes!”

“Who knew?” Gigi asked mildly. “What’s the rest of the suite like?”

“Here, five feet beyond the entrance hall, you can see where a wall is built to separate the rooms. In the bedroom you find a king-sized bed that can be divided into twin beds, built-in night tables, and a long dressing table opposite the bed. The other room is multipurpose, with a television and VCR that rises from its cabinet at the touch of a button, a built-in bar, a writing desk, and a round table that can be used for breakfast or games. Every object, every piece of furniture, was chosen by the design teams to give a feeling of a festive holiday.”

“Does that dividing wall stop here?” Gigi asked, putting her finger on the blueprint.

“Exactly, leaving the bedroom area private. When the two rooms are joined into one, all the space becomes a wide, comfortably furnished sitting room giving directly onto the sea, with room enough for thirty people to have cocktails—or for two people to be cozy together.”

Her mouth, the naval architect thought, in that cozy suite, would be perilously soft and nervously thirsty as she bent her head back for kisses; her breasts were set high and round and far apart, like those in certain old engravings
that had tormented him as a boy. She would have impertinent hips and a maddeningly childish frizz of hair between her legs. He sighed and thought of her age. And his age.

“What’s on the rest of this deck, Renzo?” inquired Gigi impatiently.

“Boutiques and the port tour office, Graziella Giovanna. Above you will find all the necessary public rooms of any cruise ship, the ballroom, the big and little bars, the casino, the lending library, the spa, the beauty salon, the gym, a special bar called Rick’s Place, another intimate room for AA and OA meetings to be held during the day—essential amid the temptations of a cruise, and of course the pool, the deck chairs, and much space for the seriously athletic.”

“What do I do if I’m walking around this sun deck twenty times and I get hungry?”

“The sun deck, which we will call the Zodiac Deck, I beg you, has an open-air Sky Bar with fresh juices for the health-mad. Here, at the prow of the Zodiac Deck, in the Equator Lounge, high above the captain’s bridge, we serve snacks twenty-four hours a day, with an elaborate afternoon tea. If you find yourself still hungry, room service will be available all day and all night. You seem to have an excellent appetite,
piccola signorina.”

“I used to be a chef,” Gigi explained. “I adore thinking about food.”

“A charming talent,” he said, regret mounting each minute. Without appetite, what was beauty?

“Renzo, here,” Gigi said, pointing, “these two huge, empty spaces at the stern of the Zodiac Deck, are they the bases of the funnels?”

“Indeed, yes. They serve no other function but that of style. And the open space behind them, totally at the stern, is another sun deck.”

“What if the ship carried two large helicopters? Could you use the funnel bases as hangers? Could the helicopters land on that sun deck?”

“Certainly, but we have no plans for two helicopters. Why?”

“I’ve been thinking … let’s say you’re docked for the day in London—if a group of women wanted to visit a couture collection in Paris, rather than sightseeing in London, they could do so easily by helicopter and get back to the ship by dinner, couldn’t they? Or if you were docked at Piraeus, instead of fighting the smog at the Acropolis, they could take a day trip to a Greek island or two—there would be a hundred ways to use them.”

“Have you discussed helicopters with Ben?”

“No, but I will, now that you’ve told me you can accommodate them.”

I could find space for even four helicopters if you could accommodate me, Montegardini thought, accommodate me with your green eyes open and imperious, accommodate me mockingly and flauntingly, with all your melting, absorbing, exasperating charms laid bare until I was as exhausted as the victor on a battlefield. He bit the inside of his lip and thought of Ben Winthrop again. A possessive man, utterly possessive.

“Renzo? Renzo! Don’t you think you could carve out some space from the ballroom—it’s really huge—and make a costume storage and fitting room?”

“For what purpose, my dear naval architect in training?”

“For masked balls. I think that there should be a masked ball on each voyage, a ball with a surprise theme, with different costumes each time. They’d have to be bought in advance, stored on hangers, and fitted to the passengers by clever alteration people. I don’t see another inch of space available.”

“And where would these alteration people sleep?”

“Perhaps … with the officers?” Gigi suggested in a purring, beseeching tone of voice that made him desperately try to think of his wife’s cats.

“I will try, Graziella Giovanna, at this stage nothing is impossible.”

“Oh, Renzo, you’re an angel! If nothing is impossible, wouldn’t you say that you could make the main dining room just a tiny little bit smaller, and add a private party room where people could plan special dinners, one night Chinese, one night Italian, one night—deli? They could reserve it before the cruise and hold birthday and anniversary parties there—wouldn’t it be a good idea?”

“I’ll see, most
cara
Gigietta, I’ll try to see if it can be done,” he sighed.

And you, my enchantingly nerve-racking girl, are a supple, artless devil, an instinctive passionate animal wielding your warm weapons without even realizing it … and I must absolutely throw you out of my office until I regain my senses.

Gigi found the study of the blueprints so fascinating that by the end of the week she had them all reduced in size and put into a portfolio with the
Sizione Maestra
, the painting of the
Winthrop Emerald
, and a set of interior photographs of the suites. This package, with Ben’s enthusiastic approval, was planned to be used as a special advertising supplement, bound separately and inserted into
Town and Country, Architectural Digest
, and
Vogue
. Through the use of selected Zip Codes it was possible to mail it to the areas where most of the future American passengers of the
Emerald
lived. The last page of this section bore only one line of type, an announcement that the maiden voyage of the
Winthrop Emerald
was sold out.

“You do not hesitate to count your chickens so soon in advance,
piccolla
Graziella Giovanna?” Renzo had asked, his eyebrows raised.

“The maiden voyage will be by invitation only,” Gigi assured him, “direct from Venice to New York. Is that an offer you would refuse?”

“From you, dear and valued colleague, no offer would ever be refused.”