Zoya (50 page)
Authors: Danielle Steel
Tags: #Fiction, #Contemporary Women, #Sagas, #Romance, #Contemporary
“No, it's not, Nick. It's a tribute to her. All I did was the perfume.”
‘That's not entirely true, Matthew. I've seen the figures.”
“It's not important. But what are we going to say to Mama? I know what she's going to think. I'm thirty-five years old, I can find another job. Mama is seventy-five. For her, it'll be all over.”
“I'm not so sure of that,” Nicholas pondered it. From a business standpoint the offers were too good to refuse, one in particular, which they both liked. It kept Matthew on for five years, as chairman and consultant, and gave them all an incredible sum of money, including Zoya. But they both knew that it wasn't the money that interested their mother. It was the store and the people and the excitement.
“I think she'll see the value of this.” Nicholas was hoping she would as Matthew laughed and collapsed momentarily in a leather chair.
‘Then you don't know our mother. She's going to have a fit. It's what she does after that that we have to think of. I don't want her to get depressed over this. At her age, it could kill her.”
“That's something to think about too,” Nicholas added wisely, “at seventy-five, we can't expect her to be there forever. And it's bound to change once she's gone, even with you there. She adds something to the store. You can feel it come alive when she walks in.” She still went to work every day, although now she left promptly at five and was driven home by a chauffeur. Nicholas had insisted on that several years before, and she gave in gracefully. But she was there every morning at nine o'clock, come hell or high water.
“We're just going to have to talk to her,” Matthew finally decided. But when they did, she had the fit he had so wisely predicted. “Mom, please,” he begged, “look at what they're offering us.” She turned to him with icy
eyes
that would have been worthy of her mother.
“Is there something I don't know? Are we suddenly destitute, or are we only greedy?” She looked pointedly at her son, and Matthew laughed. She was impossible, but he loved her dearly. He had been living with the same woman for the last five years, and he was convinced that the only reason that he loved her was because she was of Russian origin, had red hair, and looked vaguely like Zoya. I know, it's very Freudian, he had admitted more than once. But she was also gorgeous and smart and very sexy. Also not unlike his mother.
“Will you at least give it some thought?” Nicholas asked.
“Yes. But don't expect me to accept it. I will not sell the store to a dog food manufacturer just because you two are bored,” she turned to her youngest son, “why don't you invent a new perfume?”
“Mom, we're never going to get another offer like these.”
“But do we want one?” And then, as she looked at them, she understood, and there was no denying that it hurt her. “You think I'm too old, don't you?” She looked from Nicholas to Matthew, and she was touched by the respect and love she could see there. “I am. There's no denying that. But I'm in good health. In my own mind,” she squinted her eyes, thinking, “I was thinking of retiring at eighty.” And
then all three of them laughed and she stood up and promised to think it over.
For the next four months, the battle raged as new offers came in, even better than the last ones. But the real issue was not how much, but if they were going to sell at all. And by the spring of 1975, when Paul died quietly in his sleep at eighty-six, Zoya began to understand that she would not live forever. It was unfair for her to keep a grip on her sons, and refuse them the right to do what they wanted. She had had her life, and her fun, and she had no right to alter the course of theirs. As hard as she had fought them before, she capitulated gracefully late one afternoon, at the end of a board meeting, stunning everyone into silence.
“Do you mean that?” Nicholas stared at her in amazement. He had all but given up by then, and had resigned himself to keeping the store, if only for his mother.
“Yes, Nicky, I do mean it.” She said it quietly, she hadn't called him that in years. “I think it's time.”
“Are you sure?” It suddenly made him nervous that she was willing to give up so meekly. Maybe she wasn't feeling well, or she was depressed. But as he faced the piercing green eyes, she didn't look it.
“I'm sure, if it's what you both want. I'll find something else to do. I want to travel a little bit.” She had promised Zoe only a few weeks before that she would take her to Paris in the summer.
She stood up slowly then, and looked around at the entire board. “Thank you, gentlemen. For your wisdom and your patience, and the joy you have given me.” She had started the store almost forty years before, before some of them were even born, and she
went around the table and shook everybody's hand, and then she left, and Matthew wiped his eyes. It had been an extraordinary moment.
“I guess that's it” Nicholas looked at him sadly for a moment when they were alone again. “How long do you think it'll take for the deal to go through?” They had already agreed on which one they wanted.
“A few months. We should be settled by the summer.” Matthew looked moved and excited.
Nicholas nodded, looking somber. “She wants to take Zoe to Europe. I was going to discourage it, but I don't think I will now.”
“Don't. It'll do them both good.”
Nicholas nodded and went back to his office.
CHAPTER
52
The day dawned bright and sunny as Zoya sat at her desk for the last time. She had packed her things the day before, and Matthew had given her an incredible party. The store had been filled with every name anyone had ever heard, the luminaries of society, and two visiting royals. They had all kissed her and hugged her, and remembered. And now she sat and remembered them, thirty-eight years of them, as she prepared to leave her office. The driver was probably waiting for her outside, but she was in no hurry to go, as she stood at the window and looked out over Fifth Avenue, looking down at the traffic. So much had changed in forty years, so many dreams fulfilled and others broken. She remembered how Simon had helped her start the store, how excited he had been, how happy they were when they went to Europe together on their first buying trip. It seemed like a whole lifetime, now gone in only a moment.
“Countess? …” A gentle voice spoke from the door and she turned to see her latest assistant, a girl who was younger than her oldest grandchild.
“Yes?”
“The car is waiting downstairs. The driver wanted you to know, in case you were waiting”
“Thank you,” she smiled graciously, her back straight, her eyes proud, “please tell him I'll be down in a moment.” Her words and her manner still bespoke nobility, more than her title. No one who had ever worked for her would ever forget her.
The door closed silently, as she looked around the room for a last time. She knew she would be back again, to visit Matthew, but it would never be quite the same. It was theirs now. She had given it to them, and they had chosen to sell it. But she suspected that Simon wouldn't have disagreed with them. He was a shrewd businessman, and so was Matthew.
She cast a last look over her shoulder, and closed the door, her back straight in a new navy blue Chanel suit, her hair swept up and carefully knotted. And as she left her office, she almost collided with Zoe.
“Grandma! I was afraid you'd left. Look! Look what I have!” Nicholas had agreed to the trip to Paris long since, and they were leaving in two weeks, but not by ship this time. They were flying. There were no ships left that she wanted to take, and Zoe didn't mind. She was jumping up and down, full of twelve-year-old exuberance, her hands full of brochures as Zoya laughed.
“What have you got?”
She glanced over her shoulder as though she'd been followed-and whispered conspiratorially, “Just don't tell Daddy. Once we get there, he'll never know the difference.” The brochures she held out to her grandmother were not of Paris, but of Russia. The spires of the Winter Palace looked at her boldly
from the pictures. The Catherine Palace … the Alexander … the Antichkov … as Zoya's eyes met hers in silent wonder. “Grandma, let's go to Russia!” She had been promising it to herself for years, and maybe now, with little Zoe, she was ready.
“I don't know. Your father might not want you to …” And then, as she thought of it, she smiled. She had left with her grandmother more than half a century before, and now she could go back with her own grandchild. “You know,” she beamed, as she slipped an arm around the child's shoulders. “I quite like it.” She stepped onto the escalator with her, glancing at the brochures, thinking of their plans, her mind racing.
They reached the main floor, and she looked up, startled to see hordes of her employees, standing there, many of them crying openly. She shook their hands, smiled, kissed one or two, and then suddenly, it was over, she and the child were on Fifth Avenue, as she waved the driver away. She didn't want to drive anywhere. They were going for a long walk, as Zoe rattled on excitedly about the trip.
“And then … we could go to Moscow! …” Her eyes danced, just as Zoya's did as she listened.
“No. Moscow was always very boring. St. Petersburg … and perhaps … you know … when I was a child, in the summers we went to the palace in Livadia … in the Crimea. …” They walked down the street hand in hand, as Nicholas's limousine drew up slowly. He couldn't bear the thought of her leaving the store alone, and he had come to take her home, and then suddenly he saw them … the straight back in the Chanel suit, and his own daughter, her dark hair flying as she talked animatedly
about something. The old and the new. The past and the future, going home hand in hand. He decided to leave them alone, as he walked slowly into the store to see Matthew.
“Do you suppose we could get there, Grandma? … to Livadia, I mean …” Her eyes were filled with love as she looked up at her, and Zoya smiled.
“We'll certainly try, darling, won't we?”
a cognizant original v5 release october 27 2010
Published by
Dell Publishing
a division of
Random House, Inc.
Copyright © 1988 by Danielle Steel
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eISBN: 978-0-307-56706-2
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