Remembrance (21 page)

“I'll do my best, dear.” His mother's voice was noncommittal. “Have you seen your father?”

“Not yet.” It had occurred to Brad as well that no one except Teddy had put himself out to welcome him back and meet Serena, and he was slowly sorry that he had made the time to come home on their way to San Francisco. They could have gone to Rome to say their good-byes there, or wandered around Europe for a couple of weeks before flying home and merely changed planes in New York.

But maybe he should give them more of a chance, he decided. It was a hectic time for them all, and he couldn't expect everyone to drop what they were doing just for him. But it was not for himself that he cared about it, it was for Serena. Already he could see something wary in her eyes as he glanced at her.

“You'll be at dinner with us tonight, won't you, Brad?” His mother gazed at him, as though he were the only one included in the invitation.

“Yes.” He looked at her pointedly. “We both will. And which room do you want us in, by the way?”

For only an instant his mother looked annoyed. He was forcing her to deal with the issue of Serena, and it was the last thing she wanted to do at that point in time. But she realized that, for the moment at least, there was no avoiding it. “I think the blue room would be fine. How long are you staying, dear?” She looked only at her son and never once at the girl.

“For two weeks, until we leave for San Francisco.”

“That's marvelous.” She turned then, glanced searchingly at Serena, and then looked back at Brad. “I have a few details to take care of, darling. I'll see you in a little while.” And then, unexpectedly, she looked back at Serena and spoke to her with great care. “I think perhaps it would be a good idea if you and I spent a little time together. If you could come to my boudoir for half an hour before dinner, I think we might speak alone.” Serena nodded immediately and Brad looked surprised. Maybe the old girl was making an effort after all, he decided, perhaps he had wronged her.

“I'll show her where it is, Mother.” For an instant Brad looked pleased, but unnoticed by the others, there was terror in Teddy's eyes.

Their mother left them a few minutes later and Teddy looked strangely worried. Brad teased him about it, and Serena sat down with a long nervous sigh, staring at them both.

“Why do you suppose she wants to see me alone?” Serena looked worried, and her husband smiled.

“She just wants to get to know you. Don't let her intimidate you, love. We've got nothing to hide.”

“Should I tell her about the baby?”

“Why not?” Brad looked proudly at her and they exchanged a smile, but Teddy was quick to intervene.

“No, don't.” They both looked at him, startled, and he blushed.

“Christ, why not?” B.J. looked almost annoyed. He had only been home for a few hours, and he was already feeling unnerved by his family. What odd people they were, he remembered now, and all the intrigues and plots and tensions and insults. His mother always kept them all at fever pitch, and it annoyed him severely to become a part of that again now. “Why shouldn't Serena tell her?”

“Why don't you tell her together?”

“What difference does it make?”

“I'm not sure. But she might say something to upset Serena.” Brad thought about it for a moment and then nodded.

“All right. Anyway”—he looked pointedly at his wife—”don't let the old bag push you around, love. Just be yourself and she won't be able to resist you.” He bent down to give her a hug and thought that he could almost feel her tremble. “You're not afraid of her, are you?”

Serena thought about it for a moment and then nodded at him. “Yes, I think I am. She's a very striking, very strong woman.” She had also been much prettier than Serena had expected, and much tougher. Serena had never met anyone quite like her. Her grandmother had been a strong woman, but in a much purer sense. Her grandmother had had quiet strength and determination. Margaret Fullerton had something different. One sensed instantly about her that she used her strength to get what she wanted, and perhaps in ways that were occasionally ugly. There was something that ran just under the surface of Margaret Fullerton that was as cold as ice and as hard as nails.

“There's nothing to be afraid of, Serena.” He said it gently as he pulled her off the couch and prepared to take her to the blue room, where his mother had said they would be staying, and as Teddy followed them upstairs he was praying that his brother was right.

21

As it turned out, Brad was still in the tub at the hour of Serena's appointed meeting with his mother. And the butler led the way downstairs, down a hall with walls covered with small exquisite paintings, three tiny Corots, a small Cézanne, a Pissarro, two Renoir sketches, a Cassatt. The paintings were beautifully framed and hung as though in an art gallery, with excellent lighting, against wonderfully draped taupe velvet walls. The carpeting beneath her feet was thick and of the same pale mocha color, it was in sharp contrast to the marble floors she was so used to in Rome and Venice and Paris. The softness of the carpeting beneath her feet in the Fullertons' apartment felt as though she were walking on clouds. The furniture was all handsome and quiet, there was a great deal of Queen Anne, some Chippendale, some Hepplewhite, and a few quiet Louis XV pieces, but everywhere were rich woods and subdued colors. There was none of the gilt and marble of the richer Louis XV pieces or the Grecian-inspired Louis XVI. The Fullerton apartment was done in excellent taste, with the best of everything in evidence in rich abundance, but none of it was showy. Even the colors Margaret had chosen for her home were soft beiges, warm browns, ivory shades, and here and there a deep green or a restful blue. There were no peaches or rubies or brilliant greens. It was a whole other look than the Renaissance splendors of the palazzi Serena had known, which she had to admit that she still liked better. Yet this had a certain warmth to it, and it was all as elegant and restrained as Margaret Fullerton herself.

When the butler stopped at her boudoir door, he stepped aside for Serena to knock, and then bowed rapidly and disappeared as Serena entered. She found her mother-in-law sitting in a small room at a beautiful little oval table, a butler's tray from the era of George III, with a drink in her hand, and a heavily carved crystal decanter and another glass on a silver tray, waiting for Serena's arrival. There was a large portrait over the small ivory couch on which she sat, and the man in it wore a huge mustache and pince-nez, over dark turn-of-the-century clothes, and his eyes seemed to leap out of the portrait and ask a thousand questions.

“My husband's grandfather,” she explained as Serena felt his eyes on her and glanced toward the painting. “He is responsible for almost everything that your husband has.” She spoke pointedly, as though Serena would understand her, and to the young Italian girl standing before her, it seemed a very odd thing to say. “Please sit down.” Serena did as she was told, and sat very primly on the edge of a small Queen Anne chair, in the black velvet dress she had chosen for dinner. It had a low square neckline and broad straps, a slim skirt, and over it she wore a short white satin jacket. It was a suit that Brad had bought her just before they left Paris, and Serena knew that she wouldn't be able to wear it for much longer. Her ever growing waistline would soon refuse to be restricted by the small waist of the dress. But for tonight it was perfect, and she wore it with pearl earrings and her pearl necklace, and she looked very grown-up and very pretty as Margaret Fullerton looked her over again. Even she had to admit that the girl was pretty, but that wasn't the point. The fact was that if she didn't go back to Europe she was going to destroy Brad's life. “Would you care for a drink?” Serena shook her head quickly. The baby had made it impossible, in recent weeks, to even so much as sniff wine.

While Margaret poured herself a drink, Serena studied her. She was an amazingly distinguished-looking woman, and tonight she wore a rich sapphire-colored silk dress, set off by a handsome necklace of sapphires and diamonds, which her husband had bought her at Cartier's in Paris after the first world war. Serena's eyes were held for a long moment by the necklace, and then her glance shifted to the enormous sapphire earrings, and the matching bracelet on her arm. With an assumption of understanding, Margaret Fullerton nodded and decided that it was time to make her move. “Serena, I'm going to be very candid with you. I don't think that there's any reason for us to mince words. I understand from—from friends”—Margaret Fullerton hesitated for only a moment—”that you met Brad while you were working for him in Rome. Am I correct?”

“Yes, I—I got the job when I came back to Rome.”

“That must have been a fortunate circumstance for you.”

“At the time it was. I had no one left in Rome, except”—she struggled for a way to explain Marcella—”an old friend.”

“I see. Then the job at the palazzo must have been a godsend.” She smiled, but her eyes were frighteningly cold.

“It was. And so was your son.”

Margaret Fullerton almost visibly flinched, as the young woman sat very straight in her chair, the pretty ivory face framed by the collar of the white satin jacket, her eyes bright, her hair brushed until it shone. It was difficult to find fault with Serena, but Margaret was not to be fooled by appearances. She already knew exactly what she thought of this girl. She went on now with a look of determination.

“That was exactly the impression I had, Serena. That you needed Brad's help, and he came to your rescue, perhaps in getting you out of Italy. All of which is quite admirable of him, and perhaps even very romantic. But I think that getting married may have been carrying things more than a little bit too far, don't you?” For an instant Serena didn't know what to say, and whatever came to mind, Margaret did not give her the chance to say it. “We all know that men sometimes get involved in unusual situations during wartime, but”—her eyes blazed for a moment as she set down her glass—”it was mad of him to bring you home.”

“I see.” Serena seemed to shrink visibly in her chair. “I thought that perhaps … when we met—”

“What did you think? That I'd be fooled? Hardly. You're a very pretty girl, Serena. We both know that. But all that nonsense about being a princess is precisely that. You were a charwoman working for the American army, and you latched onto a good thing. The only unfortunate thing is that you weren't smart enough to know when to let go.” For an instant Serena looked as though she had been slapped. There were tears in her eyes as she sat back in her chair, and Margaret Fullerton stood up and went to her desk. She returned a moment later with a small folder, sat down again on the small couch, and looked at Serena squarely. “I'm going to be frank with you. If what you wanted was to get out of Italy, you've done that. If you want to stay in the States, I'll see to it that that is arranged. You can settle yourself anywhere in this country, except of course where Brad lives, which means neither San Francisco, nor here. If you want to go back to Europe, I will arrange for immediate passage back. In either case, after you sign these papers, annulment proceedings will be initiated by his father's law firm at once, and you will be rewarded handsomely for your trouble.” Margaret Fullerton looked matter-of-fact and not the least bit embarrassed by what she had just said to Serena.

But Serena seemed to be sitting even straighter in her chair, and the emeralds in her eyes had suddenly caught fire. “I'll be rewarded?”

“Yes.” Margaret looked pleased. She was obviously on the right track. “Quite handsomely. Brad's father and I discussed it again last night. Of course you must understand that once you sign these papers you will have no right whatsoever to attempt to sue for more. You'll have to take what you get, and leave it at that.”

“Of course.” Serena's eyes blazed, but now she too sounded matter-of-fact. “And for precisely what price are you buying your son back?”

For an instant Margaret Fullerton looked annoyed. “I don't think I like your choice of expression.”

“But isn't that what you're doing, Mrs. Fullerton? Buying him back from an Italian whore? Isn't that how you view it?”

“How I view it is entirely immaterial. What you have done, snagging my son as you did while he was overseas, is liable to affect his entire future, and his career. What he needs is an American wife, someone of his own class, his own world, who can help him.”

“And I could never do that?”

Margaret Fullerton laughed and spread her hands in the small elegant den. “Look around you. Is this your world? The world you come from? Or is this only what you wanted? What exactly did you plan to give him, other than that pretty face and your body? Have you anything to give him? Position, connections, resources, friends? Don't you understand that he could have a career in politics? But not married to an Italian charwoman, my dear. How can you live with what you have done to his career … his life?” The tears stood out once again in Serena's eyes and her voice was husky when she answered.

“No, I have nothing to give him, Mrs. Fullerton. Except my heart.” But she answered none of the other questions. It was none of the woman's business what she came from. In truth, she came from something far grander than this, but who could explain that now? It was all over. Gone.

“Precisely.” Margaret went on. “You have nothing. And to be blunt, you are nothing. But I suspect that you want something. And I have what you want.” Do you, you bitch? Serena silently raged.… Do you have love … and patience and understanding and goodness and a lifetime to give me? Because that's what I want to give him. But she said nothing.

Without saying another word, Margaret Fullerton opened the folder she had brought from her desk, and handed a check to Serena. It was made out in the amount of twenty-five thousand dollars. “Why don't you have a look at that?” Out of curiosity Serena took it from her, and glanced at the numbers in disbelief.

“You would give me that to leave him?”

“I would and I am. In fact we can have this business over with in a matter of minutes, if you will simply sign here.” She pushed a single typewritten document toward Serena, who stared at it in amazement. It said that she agreed to divorce Bradford Jarvis Fullerton III, or obtain an annulment, as soon as possible, that she would either leave the country or reside in another city, and would never, at any time, discuss any of this with the press. She would fade out of Brad's life immediately, in exchange for which she was to be paid the sum of twenty-five thousand dollars. Furthermore, the paper went on, she swore that at this moment in time she was not pregnant and would attempt to make no future claim on Brad for paternity of any child she subsequently had. When she saw that, a smile broke out on her face and a moment later she began to laugh. They had thought of everything, those bastards, but suddenly now it seemed funny.

“Apparently you find something amusing here?”

“I do, Mrs. Fullerton.” There was still a green blaze in Serena's eyes, but now she felt mistress of the situation at last.

“May I ask what amused you? This document was very carefully prepared.” She looked furious at Serena's reaction, but she didn't dare let the girl know.

“Mrs. Fullerton.” Serena smiled at her sweetly and stood up. “Brad and I are having a baby.”

“You're
what?”

“I'm pregnant.”

“And when did
that
happen?”

“Two months ago.” Serena looked at her proudly. “The baby is due in December.”

“That certainly adds a new dimension to your schemes, doesn't it?” The older woman was almost overwhelmed by fury.

“You know”—Serena looked at her, with one hand on the door —”you may find it very hard to believe, but I have no schemes about Brad, and I never have, right from the first. I know that you think I am a poverty-stricken little tramp from Rome, but you're only partly right. I have no money. That is all. But my family was quite as illustrious as yours.” Her eyes strayed to the portrait on the wall. “My grandfather looked not unlike that man. Our house” —she smiled at the older woman—”was far grander than this one. In fact all three of our houses were. But the important thing, Mrs. Fullerton, is that I want nothing from your son. Except his love and our baby. The rest I don't want, not his money or your money or his father's money, or that check for twenty-five thousand dollars. I will never take anything from any of you except,” she spoke very softly, “my husband's love.” And with that, she slipped quietly out of the room and closed the door, as Margaret Fullerton stared at it with sheer fury, and an instant later anyone passing her boudoir would have heard the shattering of breaking glass. She had thrown her glass of sherry at the fireplace. But as far as she was concerned the battle wasn't over. Before Brad left New York for San Francisco, she would see to it that Serena was gone, baby or no baby. And she had two weeks in which to do it. And she knew she would.