The Scarlet Thread (18 page)

He locked the dossier away and went up to join Lucia. On his way, he looked in on his sleeping sons, then opened the nursery door a crack to make sure baby Caterina was all right.

“It was a great trip,” Charlie said to his mother. He'd picked up words like “great” from his father, and he said “okay” a lot, trying hard to sound American. “He's so nice, isn't he, Mum? Paying for everything like that—he must be jolly rich.”

He glanced at her, uncertain how to say what was uppermost in his mind since the weekend. “What sort of job are you going to do for him? Is he in the same sort of business as Mr. Wickham?”

“No, darling. He's got a lot of interests in a lot of businesses. He wants me to be a liaison between them—a super personnel job, I think you'd call it. Lots of traveling.” She decided to cross one bridge then and there. “In fact, we might have to live in France. It's not certain, but it is a possibility.”

He frowned. “Mum, I wouldn't have to leave school, would I? I mean, I'd hate that.”

“Oh, of course not. I wouldn't hear of anything like that! You'd just come over for holidays. It's not definite, Charlie, but it
is
likely. You wouldn't mind, would you?”

“No,” he said after a pause. “Not if it's good for you. Wouldn't we live at home at all? What about Grandpa?”

“We'd spend time in both places,” Angela assured him. “You could have your friends to stay in the summer. We'd be in the south, he said.”

He brightened immediately. “Gosh, that'd be great!” He paused. “Do you like him, Mum? I think he's a bit keen on you.”

“Yes, I like him very much. He may like me; I don't really know.”

“Mum,” he announced in triumph, “you're going red!”

She aimed a playful slap at him, which he dodged. He went off whistling to spend some of his pocket money at the corner drugstore two blocks away. He had made friends with one or two American teenagers, who were delighted by his clothes and accent.

Angela hurried into the bedroom. He was quite right, she realized, seeing herself in the glass. Her face was still a guilty scarlet.

She was meeting Steven for lunch downtown. He had called her that morning as usual.

“I want you to meet me,” he had said. “Don't bring Charlie. There's a little place called the Garden, over on Forty-third. Take a cab, my darling, and be there by twelve-thirty. I've got something for you. No, I can't tell you what it is. I have to go now. Twelve-thirty, the Garden, Forty-third Street. I love you,
cara mia
.” Then he had hung up.

The air was turning colder. She had bought a ridiculous hat with a bright-colored feather in Washington when she was feeling particularly happy. She decided to wear it for him at lunch that day. He had a surprise for her. It must be a present. She couldn't go on refusing him. She felt excited and a little guilty. A cruising taxi picked her up on the corner. The driver noted the address. He was a talkative man, and he loved English passengers because they were too polite to tell him to shut up.

“How long you been here, lady?”

“Three weeks,” she answered.

“You like our city?”

“I love it. I've had a wonderful time.”

“It's a great place. If it wasn't for the crime. Jesus, you seen the morning papers?” He didn't wait for her to answer. “Right across the page. Some guy working for a detective agency gets thrown out of a window six floors up, and they take the agency apart. Three people in the hospital, half the building burned out.”

“How terrible,” Angela said, not really interested. “Who did it?”

“Mafia,” he retorted, making a face in the driving mirror. “Three guys worked that place over, and nobody even gives a description! Nobody seen anything, nobody heard anything. Jesus,” he said again, “you don't finger those guys. It's Mafia for sure. I guess that agency was on to something. So they wipe it out! It makes me ashamed, you know that, lady? It makes me ashamed what people like you think of this city when a thing like that can happen. And what do the cops do about it? I'll tell you. Nothing! And why? Because half of them are on the payroll, that's why.”

Angela wasn't listening. Mafia. A man thrown to his death; people terrorized and beaten, too frightened to describe the brutes who had done it; a building almost destroyed by fire. “I make the policy decisions.… I don't carry a gun.” She held fast to that, insisting that it removed him from the violence, the taint of murder even at a distance. His promise: she held faster still to that, because without it there was no possible choice but the one she had been forced to make all those years ago.
He's giving it up. He's breaking with his past, with his own people. We're going away where none of this can touch us
.

“Lady.” The driver had pulled up and was reaching to open the door for her. “This is it. The Garden. That'll be two fifty.”

Angela didn't know how much she gave him. She hurried under the little green awning and into the restaurant. Steven was waiting for her, sitting at a table facing the door. He took her coat and guided her into the banquette seat beside him. He looked strained and taut.

“That hat,” he said. “I've never seen you in a hat before.”

“I bought it last weekend,” she said. “Steven, what's the matter? What's wrong?”

He signaled, and the waitress hurried over. “Two dry martinis,” he said briefly, and then turned to Angela. “Nothing's wrong, sweetheart. I like the hat. It suits you. How's Charlie?”

“He's fine. He's having lunch at the drugstore. There
is
something the matter. Please tell me.”

“You have to go back,” he said, speaking low. “I've got tickets for a flight this evening.”

She stared at him. “Go tonight? But why? You said a week.”

“Something's come up,” he explained. “I want you and my son to leave by tonight. It's all fixed. I've got the tickets right here.”

“And I'm not to be told why?” she countered. “That's not good enough. I wanted to take up my job and wait for you. You said no. Now suddenly it's all changed. You've got to tell me why.”

The menus were placed in front of them. The waitress began her set speech about the recommended dishes.

“Not now,” Steven interrupted. “Not right now.”

She went away with a sullen look.

Angela said, “I'm not going unless you tell me.”

“I've been followed,” he said. “My wife hired a detective. He was checking on me. It's not safe for you and Charlie anymore.”

“Does she know about us?” Angela asked.

“Not yet. But she will. So you understand now, my darling. You must leave tonight.”

He was surprised when she said, “Could I have another martini?” and drained her first one. He signaled the waitress to bring two more drinks.

“What would happen to Charlie and me if she did find out? You said there wouldn't be any danger. You said it could be fixed at a price. You're not telling me the truth, are you?”

“Don't say that,” he countered. “I thought it would be like I said. I didn't know she suspected anything. One of the people they tried to question tipped off my brother. He warned me this morning.”

The waitress brought their second martinis. She didn't mention the menu again.

“Aren't they still following you?” Angela asked him. The cocktail was so cold it burned her throat.

“No,” Steven said. “My brother fixed it. But she'll hire someone else. Believe me, Angelina: I wouldn't send you and my boy away unless I knew I had to. Don't look at me like that. It's going to kill me to let you go without me.”

“The agency,” she managed to say. “The one that burned down, where the man was killed—the cabdriver said it was the Mafia. Does that have anything to do with this? Steven, if you lie to me now, I'll know it. I'll walk out of here and never see you again.”

It was a long time before he answered. He didn't pretend; he considered the consequences and said at last, “I won't lie to you. If I lie now, it'll be the start of more lies. You won't trust me; I won't trust myself. If you leave me because I tell you the truth, then it wasn't going to work for us anyway.” He paused. “It was the same agency my wife used. I told you, my brother got the tip-off. He didn't consult me, because he didn't know where I was. I'd have stopped him. I've stopped him before. I'd have found another way. But he couldn't take the chance. He did what he felt had to be done to save your life and Charlie's.

“He bought me the time to get you away before Clara could go to her father. It could have been a matter of days. Piero knew that. He knows the way these things work. She finds out about you, and all it takes is a telephone call. So he gave the order. Here are the tickets, Angela. I can't drive you to the airport. I can't see you again after you leave here, in case there's another tail on me. I can't even say goodbye to my son.” After a moment he said, “Give me your hand, won't you? Don't turn away from me.”

Their hands met and gripped. There were tears in his eyes. “You wanted the truth,” he said. “You said something would happen. It did. I'll come to England. Will you be there for me?”

Angela reached up and took off the hat. The bright feather brushed against him. “I bought it because I was so happy,” she said. “I loved the silly feather. I don't think I could eat anything. Do you mind?”

He shook his head. “You want me to get the check?”

“I was thinking,” she went on. “While you were telling me about it, I was thinking. I knew already, as soon as I asked. Since we've been together again, I've known what loving you was going to mean. So why am I shocked, Steven? Why haven't I faced it before?”

“Because you couldn't,” he said. “You told me. You couldn't face it for the boy.”

“I couldn't face it for myself either.” She stared ahead of her, as if looking into the future. “I can run away from you a second time. I know you won't try to stop me now. We've been too close for that. I can go back to my old life and tell Charlie the job with you has fallen through. He'll be disappointed; he said this morning, ‘I think he's a bit keen on you, Mum.' He was teasing me, laughing about it. He'll forget about you. He hasn't learned to love you yet. But I have. I love you, Steven, and if you love me, you'll get on the plane tonight and come with us. If you do that, we have a chance. If you stay here, we'll never see each other again. Next time, it won't be your brother who does something like that. It'll be you. Now get the check, and I'll find a cab outside. Give me the tickets.”

He stood up. He handed her an envelope. “And I got this for you,” he said. It was a Tiffany box. Angela opened it. An emerald glowed on its cushion of white velvet. She closed the box and put it in his hand.

“Give it to me tonight,” she said. “On the plane.”

She didn't say goodbye or look back. She left him standing there.

FOUR

“He won't see you,” Steven'a mother repeated. “He doesn't sleep, he doesn't eat.… His heart is breaking, Stefano, but you know his pride.”

“I know it, Mama,” he answered. “But there's no time for it now.”

He put her aside gently and went to his father's room. She watched him apprehensively, mouthing a silent prayer. She had wept when he came and told her. He was her favorite, her lovely son who'd made them all so proud.

Steven didn't knock; he opened the door and walked in. Sitting in a chair, his father looked up, then started to his feet. Steven noticed how tired he looked.

“You come in here without knocking?” his father said. “Where's your respect?”

“Papa,” he answered, “I'm a man, not a boy. I have respect for you, you know that. But I have love for my father, and I can't go without saying goodbye. Mama tried to stop me, so don't blame her.”

“You haven't changed your mind?” his father demanded. “You're turning your back on your own people?”

“Not on my people,” Steven countered. “Not on you or Mama or Piero. But on what Piero did last night. He's told you about it?”

“He's told me. He did right.”

“He did it for me,” Steven said. “But it's been done for business other times. That's why I'm leaving. There's no place for our kind of business in the life I want. I'm turning my back on that, not on you. Can't you understand? Can't you even try?”

“No!” Lucca Falconi exploded. “No, I don't understand! I give you a good education, send you to college, try to make something better than a hood out of you, and this is my reward: you get fancy all of a sudden.” He struck his fist against the table. “I should have treated you and Piero the same,” he said. “I made a difference between you. I was wrong. Piero is a good boy. I thank God for Piero now.”

“Papa,” Steven protested. “Don't say things like that. It isn't fair. I did my share; I did whatever you asked me! I helped make a lot of rackets into a multimillion-dollar business, bigger than you ever dreamed. How can you reproach me because I want some happiness in my life?”

“I'll tell you how.” His father turned on him bitterly. “I remember when you came home from the army. I remember you in this very room, telling me you wanted to quit then. I made excuses. I said to myself, ‘He's had a bad time, the war was rough.' I was so proud of you.… I loved you.”

There were tears in his eyes. Suddenly he looked like a tremulous old man.

I can't
, Steven thought in despair,
I can't do this to him.… In all my life, I've never seen my father cry
.

Lucca turned away from him; he rubbed his eyes with a handkerchief. “Your mother pleaded. I listened to her,” he went on. “So I said to myself, ‘Be patient. Give him time. He's your son, your eldest boy.' I took you so gently, Stefano. I let you take your own line. No violence, you said, and I said, Yes, yes … that's in the old days; we're legitimate now. I was soft with you, because I'd gone soft in my head!” Again, he struck the table with his fist.