Remembrance (37 page)

Hand in hand with Vasili she boarded the ferry, and they set off for Fire Island. The ride took half an hour, and they got out on the island on a narrow little pier, and then he walked with her straight across the island to a beach that took her breath away, it was so lovely. It stretched out for miles, a narrow sandspit in the ocean, perfect white sand, and soft waves for almost thirty miles.

“Oh, Vasili, it's incredible.”

“Isn't it?” He smiled. “It always reminds me of Greece.”

“Do you come here often?”

He shook his head slowly, his black eyes burning into hers. “No, Serena, I don't. But I wanted to come here with you.” She nodded, and then turned away, not sure of what to say. She didn't want to play games with him. But he was so open and so appealing, and he had a magnetic quality about him that drew her to him. They walked on the beach for a while, and then sat down to watch the sunset, and they sat that way for what seemed like hours, in the growing dusk, his arm around her shoulders, each of them listening to his own dream. At last he stood up slowly and pulled her to her feet, she had her sandals shoved into her pockets, her hair was loose and blowing softly in the wind, and he touched her face with his hand, and then very gently he leaned toward her and kissed her, before walking slowly down the beach with her, and then back to the pier. They said little on the ferry ride home, and she was astonished to realize that in the last few minutes of it she fell asleep with her head on his shoulder. But he was that kind of man. He teased her about it once they were back in the Bentley, and they laughed and joked on the rest of the ride home. An hour after they had stepped off the boat from Fire Island she was in front of her door on East Sixty-third Street, and it was difficult to explain what had happened in the past eight hours. It was just after ten o'clock, and she felt as though she were returning from a magical journey with this extraordinary black-eyed man.

“See you tomorrow, Serena.” He said it very gently, and did not try to kiss her again. She nodded, with a smile, and waved as she unlocked the outside door and disappeared into the building, and as though in a dream she drifted up the stairs.

38

As relaxed and magical as the day before had been, the day of working with Vasili at the studio was a day of grueling devotion to his work. He shot unrelentingly for hour after hour, in the studio, in the car, with the male models, with the children, head shots of Serena, and shots of the car alone. She watched him work and realized that even Andy Morgan hadn't worked that hard when she was photographed by him. There was a kind of manic excitement about Vasili, a physical electricity that filled the room, and when the day ended, everyone in the studio was drained. Vasili himself was drenched with perspiration, his navy-blue T-shirt stuck to him like wallpaper, and he used a towel to wipe his face and his arms, and then sat down with a broad grin. The smile that exploded in his eyes seemed to be just for Serena, and she felt herself drawn to him as she had been again and again, and she sat down beside him with a warm smile.

“You should be very pleased.” Her voice was gentle, and his face was very near to hers.

“So should you, Princess. You were fantastic. Wait until you see the shots.”

“Í assume we're through.” There was disappointment in her voice as she said it, and she looked amazed when he shook his head. “We're not? You can't really mean to shoot more, Vasili. We got everything imaginable today.”

“No, we did not.” He attempted to look outraged, but his laughing eyes would not play the game. “We only did studio work today, tomorrow we work outdoors.”

She grinned at him. “Where?”

“You'll see.”

And the next day she did. He had found a series of hills and a rugged little canyon in New Jersey, and she drove the car, hopped out of it, lay on the hood, pretended to change a tire for him, did everything but overhaul the engine, and at the end of the day, she was even amused. Not only did he get to know his subjects but he apparently got to know his objects too. She teased him about it as they drove back to the city together, and he congratulated her again on her style.

“You know, Princess, you're damn good.”

She looked at him happily as she flung back her mane of blond hair, and longed to touch his. “So are you.”

He dropped her off at her door that night, and two days later he called her. “Come and see what we've done.”

“Vasili?”

“Of course, Princess. I have the proofs and the contact sheets to show you.” It was unusual for the model to see them before the client, but he was so excited about what he'd shot that he wanted her to rush right over to the studio, and she did. The photographs he had got of her were sheer genius, prizewinning quality, truly remarkable photographs, and he was ecstatic, and when she saw them, so was she. As was Dorothea Kerr at the agency, and the client, and everyone involved with the job. And by the following week Dorothea Kerr had scheduled them again together four more times.

“Look who's here!” She teased as she walked into the studio for the third time. “Not tired of my face yet, Vasili?” She had wanted a vacation, but after working with him, she had given up the idea. It was more exciting to work with Vasili, and she knew that he wouldn't be in the States for very long. Besides which, there was still that odd magnetism about him, and she was always haunted by the memory of the sunset they had shared on Fire Island. Whenever they worked together, she remembered those moments, and when she had slept on his shoulder on the ferry. The memories suffused her face with a gentle quality that showed in the photographs later, and the work they did together was like ballet or fine art.

“How's my princess today?” He leaned over to kiss her on the cheek, and then he smiled at her. The job they had to do was a quickie, and this time they were finished in a few hours. They knew each other so well that it was easier and easier to work together, and after the shoot was over, he pulled on a fresh T-shirt and looked over his shoulder at Serena. “Want to go out for dinner somewhere, Princess?”

She didn't hesitate for a moment. “I'd love it.” And this time he took her to Greenwich Village, to his favorite bar. They ate spaghetti and mushrooms and a giant salad, white wine, and afterward they wandered through the streets and ate Italian ice.

“Don't you ever miss Italy, Serena?”

She hesitated for a moment and then shook her head. “Not anymore.” She told him then about all that she had lost there, her parents, her grandmother, both palazzi. “I belong here now.”

“In New York?” He looked surprised, and she nodded. “Wouldn't you be happier in Europe?”

“I doubt it. I haven't been there in so long. I lived in Paris for a few months with my husband, but it all seems so long ago now.”

“How long is it?”

“Eight years.”

“Serena.” He looked at her squarely then, his black eyes brilliant with a kind of fire. “Would you work with me in Paris or London? I'd like to work with you again, and I don't spend that much time here.”

She thought about it for a moment. He was wonderful to work with, and together they created something very rare. There was an extraordinary undercurrent between them, she wasn't quite sure what it was, but it appeared in the photographs every time. “Yes, if I could make arrangements for my daughter.”

“How old is she?”

“Almost eight.”

He smiled at Serena. “You could bring her along.”

“Maybe. If it was only for a few days. She has to go to school.”

He nodded. “Let's think about it.”

“Are you leaving soon?” Serena looked disappointed, and she glanced at him as they passed through Washington Square and left the Village.

“I don't know.” He looked at her strangely. “I haven't decided yet. But I've almost finished all the jobs I came here to do.” And then he shrugged again, like a remarkably beautiful schoolboy. “Perhaps I should try to drum up more work.” Serena laughed. They had only been working together for a week, but their hours together had been so long and intense and filled with hard work and feeling that it was difficult to believe that they hadn't worked together at least a hundred times before. “What are you thinking?”

She looked at him with a smile. “That I like working with you, and that I'll miss you.” And then, almost shyly, “I've never become involved with any of the photographers before.”

“That was what Dorothea told me.” He looked at her teasingly. “She said that you are a pro, and that I wasn't to try any of my tricks on you.”

“Aha! Do you usually use tricks?”

She was teasing, but he was not when he answered. “Sometimes. Serena …”He seemed to hesitate and then decided to tell her. “I am not always the most circumspect person.” But that much was apparent about him. “Does that matter to you?”

“I don't think so.” She answered quickly, but she wasn't entirely sure what he meant. All photographers were a little wild sometimes. He wasn't the only one. The only thing different about him was that he had been married four times.

“You know.” He stopped walking and turned to face her. “You are such an unusual woman that sometimes I don't know how to tell you what I'm thinking.”

“Why not?” She frowned, afraid that she had seemed stiff or perhaps stuffy. If they were to be friends, he should have been able to be himself. “Why can't you tell me what you think?” Her eyes clouded and he moved toward her and gently kissed her.

“Because I love you.” Time seemed to stand still as they stood there. “That's why. And you're the loveliest woman I ever met.”

“Vasili …” She lowered her eyes and then raised them again to look at him, but he didn't let her continue.

“It's all right. I don't expect you to love me. I've been a crazy man all my life. And one pays a price for that.” He sighed as he said it and smiled a sad little smile. “It makes one quite unsuitable for anyone decent.”

“Don't be silly.”

But he held up a hand again. “Would you want a man who had had four wives?” His eyes bore into her as he asked her.

“Maybe.” Her voice was soft as satin. “If I loved him.”

And his voice was as soft as hers. “And do you think you could love such a man … perhaps … if he loved you very, very much … ?”

As though the gesture were made by someone else, she felt herself nodding, and the next thing she knew she was crushed in his arms. But she found as she stood there that that was all she wanted. She wanted to be with him, to be his, to stand beside him forever, and when he kissed her this time, she felt her whole heart go out to him with her kiss.

He took her home to her apartment that night and left her outside her doorway. He kissed her as passionately as he had before, but he forced himself to leave her at the door. He was back again though the next morning, with fresh coffee and croissants, a basket of fruit, and an armful of flowers, and she opened the door to him sleepily in her nightgown and was astounded as he stepped inside. What began after that was an old-fashioned courtship. They were together every minute of the day. He had finished his work, and she took her vacation from the agency at last. They went to the beach and the park and the country, held each other and kissed and touched, and it wasn't until the end of the week that she went to his hotel room at last. He was staying uptown at the Hotel Carlyle, in a huge beautiful suite overlooking the park. He took her there just to show her the view, and then once again he kissed her, but this time neither of them could hold back anymore. He held her in his arms with such an aching of desire that she could hardly bear it, and she knew then that there was no fighting what had to be. They needed and wanted each other too badly to try to stem the tides anymore, and they took each other with such unbridled passion that Serena wondered once or twice if they would live through the night. But when morning came, they were spent at last, lovers to their very souls, and she felt as though she belonged to him forever. She was Vasili's now, to her very core.

The agony of it was that he was leaving for Paris on the following morning, and Teddy and Vanessa were due back in two days.

Serena sat looking serious after their first cup of coffee. “It's all right, darling. I promise you. You'll meet me in London.”

But, Vasili …” He made it sound so simple. She had Vanessa, a child she couldn't easily leave and didn't want to, and then there was Teddy, she hated to leave him too. He had been a brother and a friend to her for so long, and such a constant presence in her life in New York, that it was difficult to imagine being without him. She looked at Vasili now and felt sorrow well up within her. She didn't want him to leave the next day.

“Then come with me.”

“But I can't… Vanessa—”

“Bring her along. She can start the school year in Paris or London. She speaks French, so it can't be a problem.” And then with a grin, “It's only as complicated as you make it.”

“That's not true. I can't just uproot her so I can run around chasing after a man.”

“No.” He looked at her seriously then. “But you can bring her with you if you choose to marry that man.” Serena said nothing. She only stared at him. “I mean that. I'm going to marry you, you know. The only question is when it will suit you. I think that we settled the rest of the question last night.” Serena blushed furiously and he kissed her. “I love you, Princess. I must have you for my own.”

But who really was Vasili? Serena felt sudden panic well up in her. How could she do this? What was she doing? But it was as though Vasili could read her mind. “Stop worrying, my darling. We will work everything out.” But how from three thousand miles across the ocean? She got up from where she sat and wandered slowly toward the window, her long beautiful carved ivory body looking like a white marble statue in motion, and it filled Vasili with desire again. “Serena.” He said it so softly that it was barely more than a whisper.

“Will you marry me?”

Her eyes filled with tears. “I don't know.” But she already knew that she had embarked on an ocean she could not control. She wanted this man more than she had wanted anyone since Brad. Just as he seemed to feel about her, she also felt that she had to have him, but it was a kind of breathtaking roller-coaster whirl. There was nothing calm or peaceful about this. It was raw passion and a constant riptide of desire. He walked toward her now, fully erect and with his black eyes blazing.

“Will you marry me, Serena?” It wasn't a menace, but it was a wonderful growl, and he swept her into his arms, as she caught her breath and he held her. “Will you?”

Slowly, hypnotically, she nodded. “I will.” And then he took her on the floor of his hotel room, and she cried out with her own desire.

And when it was over, he looked down at her with a small victorious smile. “I meant what I said, my beloved princess. I want you to be my wife. Did you mean what you said?”

She nodded slowly. “Then, say it, Serena.” He pinned her to the ground and for a moment she thought she saw madness in his eyes. “Say it. Say that you will be my wife.”

“I will be your wife.” She repeated it as she watched him.

“Why?” But as he asked her his whole face seemed to melt and once again he became gentle. “Why, Serena?” It was a tender whisper.

“Because I love you.” Her eyes filled with tears and he took her in his arms and made love to her again and again, telling her all the while how much he loved her.