Remembrance (8 page)

“Yes, Major?”

He laughed then. “For God's sake, don't call me that.” It reminded her of when she scolded Marcella for calling her Principessa and she laughed too.

“All right, then what do I call you? Sir?” She was teasing now, and suddenly more woman than girl.

He looked down at her for a long moment, his smile gentle, his eyes a deep sea-gray, and then he whispered, “Yeah … maybe you do call me Sir.” But before she could answer, he had taken her in his arms and kissed her, with a longing and a hunger and a passion that he didn't know he had. He felt his whole body press toward her, his arms held her close, and he never wanted to take his mouth from hers, as her lips gave in to his and their tongues probed and danced between his mouth and her own. He was almost breathless with desire when finally he peeled himself away slowly and she seemed to melt into his arms with a gentle sigh. “Oh, Serena …”Without saying more, he kissed her again, and this time it was Serena who came up for air. She shook her head slowly, as though to clear her head, and looked at him sadly in the moonlight, with fresh tears in her eyes.

“We shouldn't do this, Major … we can't.”

“Why can't we?” He wasn't sure she was wrong, but he knew that he didn't want to stop. “Serena …” He wanted to tell her that he loved her, but that was crazy. How could he love her? He barely knew her. And yet he knew that there was some extraordinary bond between him and this girl.

“Don't.” She put up a hand and he kissed the delicate fingers. “It's not right. You have your own life. This is only Rome,” she said, smiling sadly, “working its magic.” She had seen the photographs of Pattie Atherton in his bedroom and on his desk.

But the major was thinking only of Serena as he stared at the exquisite face in the moonlight and kissed her gently on the lips before pulling away to look at her again. She wasn't sure why she let him do it, but it was as though she had to, as though she had sensed from the first where it would end. But it was crazy … an American … a soldier? What would it lead to? She cringed at the thought.

“Why were you crying tonight, Serena?”

“I told you. I was lonely. I was sad.” And then, “I had been thinking about—” She didn't know how to say it. Her world was no more. “About things that are gone.”

“Like what? Tell me.” He wanted to know everything about her. Why she laughed, why she cried, whom she loved, whom she hated, and why.

“Ah …” She sighed for a moment. “How can I tell you what it was like? A lost world … another time, filled with beautiful ladies and handsome men. …” She thought suddenly of her parents and their friends, so many of them dead now, or having fled. She stopped talking for a moment as she thought of the faces that haunted her lately more and more, and the major watched her and saw her eyes grow bright with tears.

“Don't, Serena.” He pulled her into his arms and held her there as the tears rolled slowly down her face.

“I'm sorry.”

“So am I. I'm sorry that it happened to you.” And then he smiled to himself, remembering the story that she was Marcella's niece. That hardly matched up with her “lost world filled with beautiful ladies and handsome men.” He looked at the delicately carved face for a long time then, wondering who she really was and knowing that, to him, it didn't matter, and perhaps never would. She was special and lovely and he desired her more than he had ever desired anyone, even the woman to whom he was engaged. He didn't understand why that was true, but it was, and a part of him wanted to tell her that he loved her, but he knew that that was mad too. How could he love a girl he barely knew? And yet, he knew, as they sat huddled in the moonlight, that he did, and as she felt his arms around her Serena knew it too. He kissed her again then, long and hard and with passion and hunger. And without saying anything further, he stood up and pulled her up beside him, kissed her again, and then walked her slowly to her back door. He left her there, with a last kiss, and he said nothing further. There was nothing that he dared to say. And Serena stood there watching him for a long moment before she disappeared into the servants' quarters that she shared with Marcella and softly closed the door.

7

For the next few days Major B. J. Fullerton was as a man tormented, as he drifted through his duties without thinking or seeing, and Serena moved as though in a dream. She did not understand what had happened between her and the major, and she was not at all sure that she wanted it to happen again. For years now she hated wars, soldiers, uniforms, any army, and yet suddenly there she had been in the arms of the major, wanting no one else but him. And what did he want with her? She knew the answer to that question, or she thought so, and it made her bristle with anger each time she remembered the photograph by his bed of the New York debutante. He wanted to sleep with his Italian maid was what he wanted, a casual wartime story, and yet even as she bridled she remembered his touch and kisses beneath the willow tree and knew that she wanted more of him. It would have been difficult to say which of them looked the most unhappy as each struggled through their duties, observed by all, yet understood by only two. The major's orderly, Charlie Crockman, had exchanged a speaking glance with Marcella two days later, and yet the two had said nothing. The major barked at everyone, accomplished nothing, lost two folders filled with moderately important orders and then found them again as he fumed. Serena waxed the same patch of floor for almost four hours and then walked off leaving all her cloths and brushes abandoned in a central doorway, she stared right through Marcella, and went to bed without eating dinner.

They had not spoken to each other once since the night beneath the willow tree. By the next morning Serena had known that it was hopeless, and the major had been consumed with both guilt and fear. He was certain that Serena was innocent in every way, and surely a virgin, and the girl had suffered enough without adding a wartime affair with a soldier to her pains. In addition he had his fiancée to think of. But the problem was that it wasn't with Pattie that his thoughts were filled each morning and each evening and for a dozen hours in between. Every moment seemed to be filled with visions of Serena, and it wasn't until Sunday morning, as he looked down at her working in Marcella's vegetable patch in the garden that he decided he couldn't bear it any longer and he had to speak to her, at least to try to explain things before he went totally insane.

He hurried downstairs in khaki slacks and a light blue sweater, his hands in his pockets, and she stood up, surprised to see him, and pushed the hair out of her eyes.

“Yes, Major?” For an instant he thought there was accusation in her tone, but a moment later she was smiling, and he was beaming, and he knew that he was so damn glad to see her that he didn't care if she threw all her gardening tools at him. He had to talk to her. It had been agony, attempting to avoid her for the past four days.

“I wanted to talk to you, Serena.” And then, almost shyly, “Are you busy?”

“A little.” She looked very grown-up suddenly as she put the tools aside and stood up, her green eyes meeting his gray. “But not very. Do you want to sit down over there?” She pointed to a small wrought-iron bench, chipping but still pretty, left over from better days. She was relieved to speak to him now, and there was almost no one around to observe them. All of the orderlies were off on Sunday, Marcella had gone to church and to visit a friend. Only Serena had stayed home to tend the garden, she had gone to church early that morning, and Marcella didn't even try to drag her to visit the elderly friend. On the street side of the house were the usual two sentries, but other than that, they were alone.

The major followed her quietly to the little bench, and they sat down together. He lit a cigarette and stared into the distance, at the hills. “I'm sorry. I think I've behaved very badly this week, Serena. I think I've been a little crazy.” The gray eyes looked into hers frankly, and she nodded slowly.

“So have I. I didn't understand what happened.”

“Were you angry?” He had wondered for four days now. Or was she frightened? He knew he was, but he was not entirely sure why.

“Sometimes I was angry.” She smiled slowly and then sighed. “And sometimes I was not. I was frightened … and confused … and …” She looked at him, saying nothing further, and once again he felt an overwhelming desire to hold her and to touch her, and an even greater urge to make her his right there, under the trees in the autumn sunshine, on the grass. He closed his eyes as though in pain, and Serena reached out to touch his hand then. “What is it, Major?”

“Everything.” He opened his eyes slowly. “I don't understand what I'm feeling … what's happened.…” And then suddenly, with his whole mind and soul and being, he knew that he couldn't fight it any longer. “I love you. Oh, God.…” He pulled her to him. “I love you.” And as his lips found hers she felt desire surge up within her too, but it was more than that. It was a quiet longing to become his forever, to be a part of him, in order to become whole. It was as though here, in her parents' home, in their garden, she had found her future, as though she had belonged to this tall blond American major from the beginning, as though she had been born for him.

“I love you too.” It was the merest whisper, but she was smiling as she said it, and at the same time there were tears in her eyes.

“Will you come inside with me?” She knew what he was saying, but he didn't want to take her, to sweep her off her feet and carry her inside. He wanted her to know what she was doing. He wanted her to want it too.

Slowly she nodded and stood up beside him, her face turned up to his, her eyes larger than any he had ever seen, and solemnly he took her hand in his and they walked across the garden together, and Serena felt in an odd way as though they had just been married.… Will you take this man … ? Yes.… She felt her own voice ring out deep within her soul, as they mounted the stairs together and he closed the door behind her as they stepped inside. He put an arm around her waist then, and they walked slowly up the main staircase together to the bedroom that had been her mother's, and then as she stood on the threshold she began to tremble, her eyes riveted to the enormous four-poster, her eyes wide with memory and fear.

“I—I… can't.…” She spoke barely above a whisper, and he nodded. If she couldn't, then he wouldn't force her, but he wanted only to hold her, to caress her, to feel her and touch her and let his lips linger across her exquisite flesh.

“You don't have to, my darling … never … I won't force you … I love you. …” The words tumbled amid the extravagant satin of her hair, as his lips moved to her neck and her breasts and he gently pushed open the dark cotton dress with his lips, lusting after every inch of her, tasting her like nectar as his tongue traveled everywhere and she began to moan softly. “I love you, Serena … I love you.…”It was no lie, he both loved and wanted her as he had loved no woman before, and then, forgetting what she had said in the doorway, he picked her up gently and laid her on his bed, and slowly he peeled away her clothes, but she did not fight him, and her hands gently searched and held and nestled until he felt the powerful thrust of his own desire, and he could barely hold back anymore. “Serena,” he whispered her name hoarsely, “I want you, my darling … I want you. …” But there was a question in his words as well, and he watched her face now as her eyes sought his and she nodded, and then he slipped off the last of her clothing and she lay before him naked. He shed his own, and almost instantly he lay beside her and held her close to him, as his flesh pressed against hers. And then, ever so gently at first, and then with even greater hunger, he pressed inside her, pushing himself deeper and deeper into her center until she cried out in pain, and he lunged forward, knowing that it must be done at once, and then the pain was over and she clung to him and he began to writhe mysteriously as he carefully taught her love's wonders, and with great tenderness they made love until this time she arched her back suddenly and gave a shout, but not of pain. It was then that he let himself go unbridled until he felt hot gold shoot through him, until he seemed to float upon it in a jewel-filled sky. They clung together like that, drifting for what seemed like a lifetime, until he found her lying beside him, as beautiful as a butterfly having lighted in his arms.

“I love you, Serena.” With each passing moment the words had ever deeper meaning, and this time with the smile of a woman she turned toward him, and kissed him, gently fondling him with her hands. It seemed hours before he could bring himself to pull away from her, and he lay in the huge handsome bed, propped up on one elbow and smiling at this incredible golden mixture of woman and child. “Hello.” He said it as though he had just met her, and she looked up at him and laughed. She laughed at his expression, at what he had just said, and at the ghosts they had pushed aside, not roughly, but certainly with determination, as she lay in her mother's bed and looked up at the blue satin panels that reminded her of a summer sky. “It's pretty, isn't it?” He looked up at the cerulean satin and then smiled down at her again, but she was grinning strangely, and her laughter was that of a mischievous child.

“Yes.” She kissed the end of his nose. “It always was pretty.”

“What?” He looked confused.

“This bed. This room.”

He smiled at her gently. “Did you come here often with Marcella?” He asked the question in all innocence, and Serena could not restrain a gurgle of laughter. She had to tell him now. She had to. They had been secretly married in the garden by friendly spirits, and consummated their union in her mother's bed. It was time to tell him the truth.

“I didn't come here with Marcella.” She hung her head for a moment, touching his hand and wondering how to say the words. And then she looked into his eyes again. “I used to live here, Major.”

“Do you suppose you could call me Brad now? Or is that too much to ask?” He bent
to
kiss her, and she smiled afterward as she pulled away.

“All right. Brad.”

“What do you mean, you used to live here? With Marcella and your folks? Did the whole family work here?”

She shook her head solemnly, with a serious expression in her eyes. She sat up in feed then and pulled the sheets around her, as she held tightly to her lover's hand. “This was my mother's room, Brad. And your office was my room. That was—” Her voice was so soft he could barely hear her. “That was why I went there that night. The first time I saw you … that night in the dark.…” Her eyes bore into his then, and he stared at her in astonishment.

“Oh, my God. Then, who are you?” She said nothing for a long moment. “You're not Marcella's niece.” He grinned. He had suspected that long before.

“No.” There was another pause and then Serena drew a breath and hopped from the bed to drop him a deep and reverent curtsy. “I have the honor to be the Principessa Serena Alessandra Graziella di San Tibaldo.…” She rose from the curtsy then and stood before him in all her extraordinary elegance and beauty, naked in her mother's room, as Brad Fullerton stared at her in amazement.

“You're what?” But he had heard it all. As she began to repeat it he put up a hand quickly, and suddenly he began to laugh. So this was the Italian “maid” he had worried about seducing, Marcella's “niece.” It was wonderful and perfectly insane and delightfully crazy, and he couldn't stop laughing as he looked at Serena, and she was laughing too, and then at last she lay in his arms in her mother's bed and he grew pensive. “What a strange life for you, my darling, living here, working for the army.” He suddenly let his mind run over the work she had had to do in the past month and it no longer seemed so funny. In fact it seemed desperately cruel.

“How in hell did it all happen?” And then she told him, from the beginning, how it had been, from the days of dissent between her father and Sergio, her parents' death, the time in Venice, her flight to the States, and her return. And she told him the truth, that she had nothing, that she was no one now except a maid in the palazzo. She had no money, no belongings, nothing, except her history, her ancestry, and her name. “You have a great deal more than that, my love.” He gazed at her gently as they lay on the bed, side by side. “You have a magical gift, a special grace that few people have. Wherever you are, Serena, it will serve you well. You will always stand out. You are special, Marcella is right. You are a principessa … a princess.… I understand that now.” For him, it explained the magic about her. She was a princess … his princess … his queen. He looked at her with such tenderness then that it almost brought tears to her eyes.

“Why do you love me, Major?” She looked strangely old and wise and sad as she asked.

“I'm after your money.” He grinned at her, looking very handsome and younger than his years.

“I thought so. Do you think I have enough?” She smiled into his eyes.

“How much have you got?”

“About twenty-two dollars after last payday.”

“That's perfect. I'll take you. That's what I want.” But he was already kissing her, and they both wanted something else first. And after they had made love again, he held her and said nothing, thinking back to what she had gone through, how far she had come, just to come home, to return to the palazzo, where, thank God, he had found her. And now he would never let her go. But just as he thought that about Serena, his eyes drifted across to the photograph of a smiling dark-haired young woman in the silver frame on the marble-topped table beside his bed. It was as though Serena sensed where he was looking and she turned to see the photo of Pattie, smiling down at them both. She said nothing, but her eyes went to the major's and there was a question in them and he sighed softly and shook his head. “I don't know, Serena. I don't have the answer to that yet.” She nodded, understanding, but suddenly worried. What if she lost him? And she knew that she had to. The other woman was part of his world in a way that Serena wasn't, and perhaps could never be.