To Love Again (14 page)

What happened? What did he say? Isabella was looking at him anxiously from the backseat. He smiled. He said have a good trip.

Did he say anything about my passport?

Nope. That jerk behind us did us a big favor. I'm so happy, I'd give him a kiss. The two guards smiled in spite of themselves as they rolled quietly across the border and once again stopped. He made a rude gesture at the customs guy, and he lost interest in us, Bernardo explained.

Now what? Isabella looked nervously at the man walking toward them in dark blue.

The French customs man stamps our passports, and we're off. Bernardo rolled down the window and once again smiled.

Bonjour, messieurs, madame. He smiled benignly at them, glanced appreciatively at Isabella and briefly at the child. Isabella found herself staring at the red trim on his uniform and wishing herself miles away. A holiday? Or business?

A little of both. There was no other way to explain the two suitcases crammed with papers, in case they were inspected. My sister, our cousins, and my nephew. Family business.

I see.

He took the passports from Bernardo. Isabella held Alessandro very tight.

You will be staying long in France?

Only a few days. It didn't matter what he told him; they would all be returning by different ways and Isabella and Alessandro not at all.

Anything in the trunk? Food? Plants? Seeds? Potatoes?

Oh, Christ. No, only our luggage. Bernardo made to step out but the guard waved his hand.

Not necessary. Merci. He went to the window, picked up his stamp, flicked through the passports, and endorsed their entry, without even looking at the names. Bon voyage. He waved them on as the gate opened, and Isabella smiled at Bernardo with tears in her eyes.

How's your ulcer?

Alive and kicking.

So is mine. They both laughed then as Bernardo stepped hard on the accelerator.

They were in Nice by mid-morning, and Alessandro had just begun to stir. His mother, like the others, had not slept all night.

Is this Africa? Are we here yet? He sat up with a broad sleepy smile.

We're here, darling. But this isn't Africa. It's France.

Is that where we're going? He looked disappointed. He'd been to France before, several times.

Want some more cookies? Bernardo glanced at him as they sped on.

I'm not hungry.

Neither am I. Isabella was quick to second his sentiments, but ten miles from the airport Bernardo stopped at a small stand. He bought them fruit and then stopped and bought four cups of coffee and a container of milk.

Breakfast, everyone!

The coffee did wonders for all of them. Isabella combed her hair and freshened her makeup. Only the men looked as though they'd spent the night driving, with tired eyes and dark beards.

Now where are we going? Alessandro was wearing a white mustache of milk, which he wiped with the teddy bear's arm.

To the airport. I'm going to put you and your Mommy on a plane.

Oh, goodie! Alessandro clapped his hands with glee as Isabella watched him. It was extraordinary, not a murmur, not a regret, not a tremor or a good-bye. He had accepted their departure and their adventure like something they'd been planning for weeks. Even Bernardo was a little startled. And still more so as they said good-bye at the airport.

Take good care of your Mamma! I'll talk to you soon on the phone. He looked at the child tenderly, praying that he wouldn't cry. But Alessandro looked him over disapprovingly.

They don't have phones in Africa, silly.

Is that where you and your Mamma are going?

We are.

Bernardo ruffled the boy's hair gently and watched nervously as passengers hurried toward the plane. Ciao, Isabella. Please ' take care.

I will. You too. I'll talk to you as soon as we get there.

He nodded and then took her quickly into his arms. Addio. He held her longer than he should have, feeling a lump in his throat.

But she only held him tightly and looked at him soberly at last. Until soon, Bernardo. She held him fiercely again for one last moment, and then with the guards walking on either side of her and the child in her arms, the long swirl of mink coat disappeared. He hadn't wanted her to wear that. Just something simple and black, one of her wool coats, but she had insisted that she might need it in New York. Isabellezza. He felt something terrible tremble within him. What if he had lost her forever? But he didn't let himself think of it further as he slowly wiped a tear away and walked out of the airport whispering, Good-bye. She still had a long journey ahead of her, and he wanted to be back in Rome by that night.

The new bodyguards were waiting as Isabella stepped into the lounge at Heathrow Airport, holding Alessandro in her arms. She felt her heart leap as she watched them move toward her. They were tall, dark, and had the wholesome look of American football players.

Mrs. Walker? They were referring to Natasha and the password she and Natasha had agreed on.

Yes. She stared at them for a moment, not knowing what to say, but the taller of them handed her a letter, written in Natasha's hand. She opened it hastily, read what it said, and put it down:

You're almost home, spaghetti face. Kiss your little clown for me and relax.

Love, N.

Thank you. What do we do now? They pulled out their tickets and handed hers to her. They had been instructed not to say anything in front of Isabella's men. She opened the envelope and glanced at the time. She'd have to dismiss her two men now. She turned to them, spoke to them quickly in Italian, and they rose and shook her hand. They wished her good luck, hoped she would return quickly, and then they surprised her by stooping quickly to kiss Alessandro. Tears sprang to her eyes again as they left her. She had just lost the last reminder of home. They had been in and out of the house for so many months now, it was odd to think that now they too would be gone. Like Alessandro, she was getting tired. It had been a long, draining night, and a nervous morning, wondering if she would find and recognize Natasha's men and what would happen if somehow she did not.

We'd better go now. The first man took her arm, and she found herself being propelled toward the gate, with Alessandro still in her arms.

As they boarded the plane she found herself waiting for something ghastly to happen a bomb scare, an explosion, someone trying to grab Alessandro ' anything. It was like living in a nightmare; she had never felt so far from home. But the plane took off uneventfully, and at last they were in the air.

Where are we going, Mamma? Alessandro looked at her tiredly now, the wide brown eyes a little confused.

To Aunt Natasha, darling. In New York. She kissed him gently on the forehead, and with his hand in hers they both fell asleep.

She woke four hours later, when Alessandro climbed out of her arms. She gave a quick start, reached for him, then sat back with a smile. The two American bodyguards were still seated on either side. Alessandro was standing in the aisle staring at one of them.

Mi chiamo Alessandro, e lei?

The man looked at him, smiled, and put out both hands helplessly. No capito. He glanced at Isabella for help.

He asked you your name.

Oh. Steve. And you're ' Alexandra?

Alessandro. He corrected sedately, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

Okay, Alessandro. Have you ever seen one of these? He pulled out an American fifty-cent piece, made it disappear, then promptly removed it from one of Alessandro's ears. The boy gave a delighted squeal and clapped his hands for more. A fifty-cent piece, a nickel, a quarter, then a dime appeared and disappeared while they struck up an awkward conversation, Alessandro chattering in Italian and the large man communicating mostly in mime.

Again Isabella closed her eyes. It had all gone smoothly so far; all she had to do now was get through customs in New York and then back to Natasha's apartment, where she would take off all her clothes, sink into a tub of warm water, and hide for the rest of her life. She felt as though she'd been wearing the same clothes for the past week.

They had dinner, watched a movie and, except for two trips to the bathroom with Alessandro, they never left their seats. When they did, both guards casually came along. But Isabella was quick to notice that no one on the plane had shown an interest. Even the stewardesses seemed unimpressed. They were listed on the manifest only as I. and A. Gregorio, S. Connally, and J. Falk. Nothing exciting about that. Her long dark mink had drawn a look of approval from the chief steward, but even that was not remarkable. On the run between London and New York, they saw plenty of mink. Had they seen some of the jewelry carefully hidden at the bottom of her handbag they might have been more impressed.

We'll be coming in to New York in about half an hour, the man named Steve leaned over to say. He spoke in a hushed, barely audible voice, and Isabella nodded her head. Mrs. Walker will be waiting for you on the other side of customs. We'll go with you as far as her car.

Thank you.

He looked at her cautiously, as soon as she looked away. He was almost certain he'd figured it out. They'd had a case like this two years before. A woman kidnapping back her children from their father, who had absconded with them to Greece. Something about the way she clung to the boy told him that something similar had happened to her. Damn shame to do that kind of thing to a kid too. He couldn't understand these rich people sometimes, yanking kids back and forth, like some kind of a game. But she looked like a nice woman, in spite of the occasional look of panic and the frown that too often altered her face. She had probably been scared shitless that her husband would catch on to her and she'd never get the kid out of France. That was all they knew of her, that she had been arriving in London from Nice. He turned his head slightly to watch her again as the plane began to descend.

Another potty stop, Alessandro? Customs might take a long time. His mother rapidly translated, but the child shook his head. Okay. Have you ever been to New York before? Again Isabella translated. Alessandro shook his head, adding that he had thought they were going to Africa anyway. The tall, broad-shouldered American laughed and quickly fastened the boy into his seat. But Alessandro was watching his mother now and reached for her hand. Isabella held it in her own and gazed absently at the lights on the ground. It was four thirty in the afternoon, New York time, but in early February, evening had already come.

How different it was this time. She had last been to New York two years before. With Amadeo. Generally he did the American trips without her. She had preferred going to England and France. But that last time they had come to New York together, and it had been like a dream. They had stayed at the St. Regis, dined at Caravelle, and Grenouille, and Lutece. They had gone to an enormous party for American designers, attended several black-tie dinners, taken long walks in the park. This time there would be no St. Regis, no Lutece, no quiet, shared moments. She had left him now. She couldn't even wander with her memories anymore, see him in all the familiar corners of their home. There were no familiar corners. No familiar people. Only Natasha and her child and Isabella's own. Nothing that had been a part of Amadeo's life was left to her, and she was sorry suddenly that she hadn't brought something along. Something of his, to look at and touch and remember something to remind her of the laughter and loving in his eyes. Isabellezza. She could still hear him call her name.

Mamma! Mamma! Alessandro was tugging at her sleeve. They were already on the ground. Siamo qui. We're here.

The two men looked at her quickly. Shall we go? The plane hadn't even come to a halt yet, but they were already in the aisle. The man named Steve was handing her coat to her, the other one had Alessandro in his arms. The moment the plane came to a full stop, they were propelling her into the passageway. She felt for a moment as though she were still flying, nearly lifted off the ground between them, as they hurried along. Minutes later, when they arrived at customs, the other passengers were still straggling slowly from the plane.

The customs officer motioned to Isabella to open the bags. She unlocked them, flicking all four open as the bodyguards and Alessandro stood by.

Purpose of your visit?

A family trip. The customs agent cast an eye at the men on either side.

Jesus, what if he realizes ' if he recognizes my name. '

What are these papers? He looked at the two overstuffed bags.

Some work I brought along.

You're planning to work over here?

Just on some private matters. Family matters. He glanced again into the two suitcases and then began to dig his way through her clothes. But there was very little of interest, in Alessandro's bag or hers.

All right, go on.

They had made it. She had made it. Now all they had to do was find Natasha, and they could go home. For a moment she stood there, staring blankly, wondering if something had gone wrong and then she saw her, running toward them, her long blond hair flying, floating silkily over a lynx coat. She was running, running, coming toward Isabella, and then suddenly they were in each other's arms, holding each other close, with Alessandro between them. He protested and then squealed as Natasha nibbled his neck.