Remembrance (17 page)

16

The car arrived to take them to Le Havre at eight o'clock in the morning. Their bags were packed and waiting in the front hall, and Marie-Rose and Pierre stood beside them, looking very starched and stiff and pale. Marie-Rose had been dabbing at her eyes ever since she had served Serena her breakfast tray that morning, and Pierre had the mournful look of a father losing his only son as he shook BJ.'s hand for a last time. It was the first time since before the war that they had cared so passionately for the people they had worked for, and the young couple who had inspired their love stood before them now, with regrets of their own. For B.J. it was the end of an era, the beginning of a whole other lifetime, as he knew only too well. During the war he had got lost, he had become someone new, found out who he was, in the anonymity of a uniform, with an ordinary name. Fullerton. It had meant nothing to anyone in the army. Fullerton? So what? But now he was going back to the States. Bradford Jarvis Fullerton III, and all that that entailed. He would see his mother, his father, his brothers, their friends, go to Greg's wedding, and attempt to explain to everyone why he was staying in the army, why it suited him, and why he no longer wanted out. He would have to justify why he didn't want to go into politics like his father, or work in the family law firm, why he was sure of his decision. And he knew as well that the silent question no one would dare ask, but which he would have to justify as well, was why he had married Serena. He felt so protective of her now as they left the safety of familiar turf in Europe. Particularly so now that she was carrying his child. But even if she hadn't been, he would have wanted to make the transition easy for her, and he knew that the first days of introduction to his mother would probably be very tense. After that he felt certain that even his indomitable mother would fall prey to Serena's charms. But even if she didn't, he didn't give a damn. His whole heart belonged to Serena now. And after all his army years his family seemed somehow less important, less real.

But all of it weighed heavily on Brad's mind that morning as he shook hands with Pierre and stooped to kiss Marie-Rose on both cheeks, as Serena had done only a moment before.

“You promise that you'll send a picture of the baby?” It was almost exactly the same thing Marcella had said the night before on the phone from Rome.

“We'll send dozens of pictures, I promise.” Serena squeezed her hand and afterward gently smoothed her own hand over the slight bulge in her lilac silk suit. Brad had already taken to feeling her stomach, to see if it had grown, almost daily, and she teased him about his fascination with his son. “My daughter,” he always corrected emphatically, and Serena laughed at him. She wanted a boy to carry on his name, but he always insisted that he didn't give a damn about the name, all he wanted was a little girl that looked just like her.

The Fullertons shook hands with the couple for a last time, and waved as the car drove away, and for an instant Serena leaned her head against Brad's shoulder as they drove down the Avenue Hoche toward L'étoile, and as she had in Rome, Serena found herself wondering when she would see these familiar sights again.

“Are you all right?” Brad looked at her with concern as he saw the serious expression in her eyes and wondered if she were feeling ill, but she nodded and smiled at him.

“I'm fine.” And then after another glance out the window, “I was just saying good-bye … again.”

He touched her hand and then held it gently in his own. “You've done a lot of that, my love.” He looked into her eyes. “Hopefully now we'll settle down and have a home. At least for a while.” He knew that it was possible that he might stay at the Presidio in San Francisco for as much as five years, or possibly even longer. “We'll make the house pretty for the baby and dig our heels in, I promise.” And then he glanced at her again as he spoke softly. “Will you be very homesick for all this, my love?”

“Paris?” She thought for a moment, but he shook his head.

“I mean all of it, not just Paris … Europe.”

“Yes. Brad, I was so afraid all the time, about the war, my grandmother, about ever getting back to Venice or Rome. I felt like a prisoner over there. Now everything will be different.” And the truth was that she had no one in Europe anymore. Other than Marcella, the only person Serena had was her husband, and she knew that her place was with him. She had called Marcella yesterday and told her that they were leaving. She had told her about the baby too, and Marcella was so happy that she laughed and cried. But she had refused Serena's invitation to go to the States with them. Serena had Brad now, and Marcella felt that she belonged in Rome. “It's different leaving this time.” She shrugged and he smiled, she looked suddenly very Italian. “I'm sad to go, but only because I know it here, because it's familiar, because I speak the language.”

“Don't be silly, you speak English almost as well as I do. As a matter of fact”—-he grinned at his wife—”better.”

“I don't mean that way. I mean they understand my life, my spirit, my soul. It's different in the States. People don't think the way we do.”

“No.” He thought about it as she said it. “They don't.” And he knew also that most people would not understand her background. They wouldn't even begin to guess at the beautiful things she'd been surrounded with as she grew up, the extraordinary sculptures and tapestries and paintings, the palaces in Venice and Rome that had been a matter of course to her as a child, the people she had known, the way she had lived. All of it was lost now, yet an enormous part of all that had stayed within her, woven into the fiber of her being. It made her gentle and cultured, and quiet and wise all at once, as though the beauty of all that she had known as a young girl had actually become a part of her. But B.J. had questioned for a long time how well all of that could be translated into his own culture. It was one of the reasons why he had been in no hurry to go back to the States. But now the moment had come, and in order to make the transition more gentle, he had arranged to take part of his leave on the way home. He had booked passage on the
Liberté,
which had just been awarded to France from Germany after the war, and he had arranged for a first-class cabin on one of the upper decks.

B.J. had decided against the boat train to Le Havre because he thought that the trip would be too tiring for Serena, and he preferred to have one of his orderlies drive them down quietly. That way they could stop whenever they wanted, and she would feel better when they reached the ship. As it happened, Serena had no problems on the trip down, it had been an easy pregnancy from the first, and after the first three months she felt even better than she had before. They chatted all the way from Paris, he talking to her about his old life in New York, his family, his old friends, while she told him tales about her years with the nuns. It seemed as though the trip passed very quickly, and suddenly they were at the quay, their suitcases were being taken out of the car by the driver, and a few moments later a steward was escorting them up the gangplank to their cabin, as Serena looked up at the ship in awe. This was nothing like the freighter she had taken from Dover in the company of dozens of refugee children and a handful of nuns. This was a luxury liner of the first order, and as she passed down beautifully paneled halls, glanced into red-velvet-draped staterooms, and looked at the other passengers as they boarded, she realized that this was going to be a very special trip.

Serena's eyes began to dance as she turned to her husband.

He looked at her expectantly, his own excitement showing in his eyes. He had gone to a great deal of trouble to arrange for their passage on the
Liberté
on such short notice, and it meant a great deal to him that the trip be something special for her. He wanted her entry into his world to go smoothly, and to begin happily, and he was going to do everything in his power to see that that was the case. He already knew that his brother's wedding was very possibly going to be a difficult moment, the confrontation with Pattie Atherton was not something that Brad was looking forward to, so at least before all that they would have a grand time.

“Do you like it?”

“Brad! …” She was whispering as they sedately followed the steward to their cabin, where they knew they would find the trunks they had sent ahead a few days before. “This is marvelous! It's —it's like a palazzo!” She giggled and he laughed and tucked her hand into his arm with obvious pleasure.

“Tonight I'll take you dancing.” And then his face clouded quickly. “Or shouldn't we do that?”

She laughed at him as they walked into the cabin. “Don't be silly. Your son will love it.”

“My daughter,” he said in hushed tones, and then they both stopped speaking, because the cabin they were standing in was so spectacular that it took them both by surprise. Everything was upholstered in either blue velvet or blue satin, the walls were paneled in a deep handsome mahogany, the furniture was of the same richly burnished wood, and everywhere were small brass ornaments and fixtures, beautiful little lanterns, handsome antique English mirrors, and large airy portholes rimmed in highly polished brass. It was the perfect spot for the honeymoon they had never taken, and the whole room had an aura of comfort and luxury that made one want to stay for a year, not a week. Their trunks were already neatly placed on racks in convenient places, and their suitcases were added to them now, as the steward made a neat bow.

“The maid will be along in a moment to help Madame unpack the suitcases.” He then indicated a huge bowl of fresh fruit, a plate of cookies, and a decanter of sherry on a narrow sideboard. “We will be serving lunch shortly after we sail at one o'clock, but in the meantime perhaps the Colonel and Madame would care for some refreshments?” It was all done to perfection, and they both looked enchanted as the steward bowed once more and left the room.

“Oh, darling, it's wonderful!” She catapulted into his arms and gave him a hug.

Brad looked immensely pleased. “It's even better than I thought. God, isn't this the way to travel?” He poured them both a small glass of sherry, handed her one, and lifted his in a toast. “To the most beautiful woman I know, the woman I love”—his eyes lit up in a warm smite—”and the mother of my daughter.”

“Son,” she corrected, as she always did now, with a grin.

“May your life in the States bring you happiness, my darling. Always and always.”

“Thank you.” She looked into the glass for just a moment, and then at him. “I know it will.” She took a sip, and then held up her glass to toast him. “To the man who has given me everything, and whom I love with all my heart… may you never regret bringing your war bride home.” There was something sad in her eyes as she said it, and he took her quickly in his arms.

“Don't say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I love you. And when you say things like that, you forget who you are. You can't ever forget who you really are, Serena. Principessa Serena.” He smiled gently at her, and she shook her head.

“I'm Mrs. Fullerton now, not ‘Principessa’ anything, and I like it that way.” And then after a moment's pause, “Don't you try to forget who you really are, Brad?” It was an impression she had had for several months now. She had begun to catch on to his game of anonymity, in staying both in the army and abroad. “Don't you really do the same thing I do?”

“Maybe.” He looked out the porthole for a long moment. “The truth is, where and who I come from has always been a burden to me, Serena.” He had never admitted that to anyone before, and it was an odd thing to admit to her now, just before they went home. “I've never quite fit. I've always been that old cliché, the ‘square peg in the round hole.’ I don't know why, but that's the way it's been. I don't think that either of my brothers feels that way. Teddy would fit anywhere, and Greg would force himself to, whether he did or not, but I can't do that. And I just don't believe in all that bullshit anymore. I never did. The values of people like Pattie Atherton, my mother, my father. Everything is for self-importance, for show. Nothing is ever done because it feels good, because it's what you want, because it means something. It's what looks good to everyone else that counts. I can't live like that anymore.”

“That's why you're staying in the army?”

“That's exactly why. Because I'm halfway decent at what I do in the army, I can live in some damn pleasant places, probably at a good healthy distance from New York, unless I get assigned to Washington at some point”—he rolled his eyes in mock horror —”and I don't have to try and play the family game anymore, Serena. I don't want to be B.J. Fullerton the Third. I want to be me, the First. Me, Brad, B.J., my own person, someone we can both respect. I don't have to go to my father's clubs or marry the daughter of my mother's friends to feel good about myself, Serena. I never did feel good about any of that, and now I know why. Because I just wasn't cut out for that. But you”—he looked at her tenderly—”you were born to be a princess. You can't run away from it, hide from it, change it, give it up, pretend it isn't there. It's you. Just like those splendid green eyes.”