Zoya (39 page)

“We haven't told them yet. But they seem to like him.” She told her about the drive to Long Island. It had truly been a whirlwind romance. They had only known each other for a few weeks, and yet Zoya knew that he was a good man, and she also knew that she loved him.

He stopped by at the shop that afternoon, and brought flowers to her, and to Axelle. The older
woman was touched that he had thought of her, and he thanked her for championing their romance.

“Just don't steal her from me too soon, Mr. Hirsch.” She already hated the thought, but they both assured her that they were going to proceed slowly. And he still had to introduce her to his parents. And there was more than that that needed tending to. That weekend he knew both children were staying with friends, and without warning her, he showed up at Zoya's apartment on Saturday morning. He was carrying a huge bouquet of white lilacs, and a mysterious smile, which Zoya pretended not to notice.

“You're looking very pleased with yourself, Mr. Hirsch.”

“Why shouldn't I? I happen to be engaged to a very beautiful, very wonderful woman.” He kissed her and she took the lilacs to the kitchen to arrange them, and he found her there, selecting a vase of heavy cut crystal. She had bought it because it reminded her of one that her mother always used for flowers from their garden at the Fontanka Palace.

“They're lovely, aren't they?” She took a step back to admire them, and found herself in Simon's arms, as he gently turned her toward him and kissed her.

“Not as lovely as you are.” She nestled in his arms silently for a moment, enjoying his gentleness and his warmth, and stroking her hair, he looked down at her and murmured. “Let's go for a drive somewhere. It's a beautiful day today.” And he knew that she didn't have to rush back for the children.

“That's a lovely idea.” She smiled happily at him, and he wandered back into the living room, while she went to change into white slacks and a white cashmere sweater. He glanced at the photographs in
silver frames everywhere, and stopped in amazement in front of one of the Romanov children, seeming to hang upside down, while making funny faces at the person taking the picture. And as he looked at it carefully, he realized that one of the young girls in tennis garb was a much younger Zoya, and he correctly guessed that the girl next to her was Marie, and the others were her sisters. It still amazed him to realize the history she had lived. But it was long in the distant past now. Even the photograph was fraying and faded. And there were others, of Sasha and Nicholas, and several of Clayton. He was a distinguished-looking man, and Zoya looked happy standing beside him.

“What are you doing in here so quietly?” She smiled as she walked back into the room, looking beautiful in the white slacks and sweater. There were times when she reminded him of Katharine Hepburn.

“I was looking at some of your photographs. Nicholas looks a lot like his father, doesn't he?”

“Sometimes.” She smiled. “And a little bit like my father too.” She picked up a large silver frame that held a photograph of her parents and handed it to Simon. “And a bit like my brother.” She pointed to another on the table, as Simon nodded.

“They're a distinguished-looking group.” As always, he was impressed by her aristocratic ancestors, but Zoya smiled sadly.

“That's all such a long time ago.” It was hard to believe that it had been twenty years since she'd seen her parents. “Sometimes I think one should only live in the present. The past is only a heavy burden to carry with you. And yet …” She looked up at him
with wise eyes, “it's so hard to let them go … to forget … to move ahead …” It was why she had wanted to wait a little while until they married. She still had some letting-go to do. She still had a giant step to make, from the past to the present. But he understood that and he wasn't rushing her. He knew she needed time and he was willing to be patient. Especially now that she had agreed to marry him. With that promise made, he could wait for her, and help her to make the transition.

“I think we let go when we're ready to. Speaking of which, are you ready to go?”

“Yes, sir.” She was carrying a dark blue flannel blazer, and a few minutes later they were in his car, driving to what he described as a “secret destination.” “Does this mean I'm being abducted, Mr. Hirsch?” She was laughing, and she felt young as they drove along in the sunshine. It was a nice carefree feeling not having to worry about the children. It was different when she had to think of them, it made her feel more serious and less romantic. But now all she had to think about was enjoying Simon.

And he laughed at her suggestion. “Abducting you is the best idea I've had since we met. Come to think of it, I should have done it in Paris.” But he was willing to settle for Connecticut, as they drove along the Merritt Parkway. He was telling her about his business, and some of his thoughts about his fall collection. He loved talking to her, about anything and everything, and his hope that one day he would collect important paintings. He was particularly fond of the Impressionists, and Zoya told him of her parents’ collection in Russia.

“I'm not sure ‘things’ are that important to me
anymore. It's funny, I think I used to take all of the beautiful things around me for granted. But having lost everything once, and then sold everything I had with Clayton, it just doesn't mean that much to me anymore.” She smiled slowly at him with loving eyes, “the people in my life are more important.” He quietly reached out and touched her fingers across the table as they ate lunch, and their hands met and held, and a little while later, they left and talked quietly as they continued their drive through the country. It was late afternoon by then, and Zoya was relaxed as she leaned against him.

“Tired?”

She stifled a yawn and then laughed as she shook her head. “No, just happy.”

“We'll go back in a while. There's a place I want to show you first.”

“Where?” She loved being with him. Everything about him made her feel safe and loved and happy.

“It's a secret.”

She giggled and half an hour later she was amazed when she saw it. It was a little English cottage on a back road Simon knew, with a picket fence around it, huge shade trees and a profusion of rose bushes that let off a heady fragrance as they got out of the car and looked around them.

“Whose house is this, Simon?”

“I wish I could say it was mine. It belongs to a wonderful English lady who made an inn of it, in order to support it. I found it years ago, and sometimes I just come here to unwind from all the craziness in New York. Come inside, I want you to meet her.” He didn't tell Zoya, but he had called Mrs. Whitman early that morning and warned her of their
arrival. And when they stepped into the cozy living room, done in lovely English floral chintzes, there was a proper English tea waiting for them. Her silver teapot gleamed invitingly and there were plates filled with delicate sandwiches and little cakes, and what Mrs. Whitman referred to as “biscuits” She was a tall, thin, white-haired woman, with a clipped accent, laughing eyes, and long, graceful hands roughened by her work in the garden. And it was obvious that she had been expecting Simon and Zoya.

“How good to see you again, Mr. Hirsch.” She shook hands genially and looked appreciatively at Zoya, and she looked approving when Simon introduced her as his fiancoe. “What good news! Are you recently engaged then?”

“Very.” They answered in unison and then laughed, as Mrs. Whitman poured them each a cup of tea and invited them to sit down in her comfortable little parlor. There was a pretty fireplace, and handsome English antiques she had brought with her fifty years before. She had lived in London, and then New York, and when her husband died, she had retired to the country. She recognized Zoya's accent at once, and something about Zoya's bearing told her that there was a lot more to Zoya than met the eye. She thought Simon had made a wise and interesting choice, and much to Zoya's amusement, she said so. And in celebration of their engagement, she brought out a bottle of her very best sherry.

The sun set over the garden as she toasted them, and a little while later, she quietly took her glass and left the room, with a discreet look at Simon. Her own quarters were at the back of the house, and when she had important guests, she let them use the parlor as
well as the upstairs bedrooms. There were two, with a large Victorian bath connecting them, and beautiful canopied beds she had had sent over from England.

“Come and look.” Simon was telling Zoya all about it, and Zoya looked hesitant.

“Won't she mind, Simon?” She was still trying to figure out where Mrs. Whitman had gone. She had been gone for ages, but it was so cozy sitting in the cheerful living room drinking sherry with him that Zoya didn't mind. But she felt strange going upstairs without an invitation.

“Don't be silly. I know this place like my own home.” He took her hand, and led her upstairs to the pretty bedrooms, and Zoya smiled when she saw them. The lights were turned on, and the beds were turned down, as though she were expecting guests at any moment. But the rooms were obviously unoccupied, and as Zoya turned to go back downstairs, Simon pulled her into his arms with a deep laugh, and kissed her full on the lips. She was breathless when he let go of her, and her hair looked sexy and disheveled. And then, with a teasing look, he pulled her onto the bed with him, and Zoya gave a gasp as she tried to escape his caresses.

“Simon! What will Mrs. Whitman think! Stop that! … we'll get the bed all messed up! … Simon! …”

But he was laughing at her as he sat back under the huge canopy and laughed. “I certainly hope so.”

“Simon! Will you get up?” She was laughing at him too. He looked perfectly comfortable as he sat fully dressed on the bed in one of Mrs. Whitman's two guest rooms.

“I will not”

“You're drunk!” But he'd hardly had a thing to drink all day, except for her very proper little sherry, and he hadn't had enough to make him drunk. But it was obvious that he was enjoying himself immensely. And then with a long arm, he reached out and pulled Zoya toward him.

“I'm not drunk. But you were right this morning, when you said you'd been abducted. I thought it might do you good to get away for a day or two, my love. So here we are, safely tucked into my secret hideaway.” He planted a kiss on her open lips and then smiled at her as she stared at him. “Consider yourself abducted.” He looked immensely pleased with himself as Zoya stared at him in amazement.

“Are you serious? We're staying here?”

“I am, and we are. In fact,” he looked faintly embarrassed for the first time, “I took the liberty of bringing a few things I thought you might need.” He looked sheepish and Zoya grinned at him in wonder.

“Simon, you are extraordinary!” She bounced onto the bed next to him like a child and threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. As it turned out, he had bought her a beautiful satin nightgown and peignoir, matching slippers, and had bought all sorts of creams and lotions and bath oils that he had thought might please her, along with two shades of lipstick, a new toothbrush, and the brand of toothpaste he had previously observed in her bathroom. He had packed it all in a small suitcase, which he brought upstairs to her a few moments later, and set it down in the bedroom next door to his own, as she proceeded to go through it with little gurgles of delight, and then she suddenly turned to him. “What will Mrs. Whitman
think of our staying here, Simon? She knows we're not married.” And she had seemed so terribly proper, although Simon knew she was far less stuffy than she looked, and had a terrific sense of humor. Besides which, it was difficult to resist two people as obviously in love as they were.

“What can she possibly think, Zoya? We have separate bedrooms.” Zoya nodded, and went back to unpacking the treasures Simon had bought her, and was touched to discover a huge bottle of her favorite perfume.

“Good lord, Simon, is there anything you didn't think of?”

“I certainly hope not.” He put his arms around her again, and then went to bring the rest of their sandwiches upstairs to their rooms with another glass of sherry. He had offered to take her out to dinner, but Zoya had insisted that she wasn't hungry.

“I'd love that.” He lit a fire in his room, and they sat cozily in front of it, eating watercress sandwiches and Mrs. Whitman's delicate little English biscuits, which she said were exactly like the ones her grandmother used to have for her when she was a child in Russia. “This is perfect, darling, isn't it?” She leaned over and kissed him again, and he looked at her contentedly. She was everything he had always wanted.

She left him around nine o'clock, and went to her own room to get ready for bed. They were both tired, and Simon sensed that she was nervous. He heard her running a bath, and it was a long time before he heard sounds in her room again. He wondered what she was doing and how she looked in the ivory satin nightgown. It was something to wear on a wedding
night, which was precisely how he had pictured their secret weekend. He walked slowly to the door, and knocked softly, and when the door opened, his breath caught as he saw her. The satin gown molded her perfectly and her red hair flowed softly over her shoulders, as the creamy flesh of her neck beckoned him to touch her.

“My God … you look incredible …”

“This is beautiful, Simon … thank you …” She looked shy as she took a step back into the room and looked at him. He had never seen anyone lovelier. She managed to look both regal and inviting and it was all he could do to force himself not to reach out and grab her. But he didn't dare, she looked like fine porcelain as she stood there, like one of Mrs. Whitman's delicate English treasures in her parlor.

“Zoya …”

She smiled slowly at him, not a girl anymore, but a woman, a woman who had come to love him deeply, with all his gentleness, and his thoughtful gestures and kindness to her. She knew as she looked at him that she had been blessed the day she met him.

“Why don't you come in for a little while.” She stepped aside, and her voice was husky as she invited him in. He stepped over the threshold feeling like a boy again, and then feeling the force of his manhood push aside his reserve, he took her in his arms, and the gown slipped slowly from her shoulders as he held her. It took the merest touch to drop it to her waist and then past her slim hips, and within moments she stood naked before him.