Remembrance (14 page)

“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.