Danielle Steel: Zoya

“What contracts?” Her mind was slowly coming to life again, there was so much to think about, so much Simon had built, from nothing at all. And she owed it to him to try and understand it. “He didn't mention any war contracts to me.”

“They were still uncertain when he left. The mills will be providing all the fabric for our military uniforms for the duration of the war.” He glanced at her, unable to overlook how beautiful she was, and how elegant, as she sat there with quiet dignity, draped in grief and the pain of losing her husband.

“Oh my God … What does that mean in terms of sales?” For a moment, it was as though Simon were back. She knew how excited he would have been, and when the attorney gave her a rough idea of what it meant, she stared at him in disbelief. “But that's not possible … is it?” She wore the suggestion of a smile, and looked suddenly much younger, and certainly not forty-three years old, which he knew from the documents he had read. But that seemed difficult to believe now.

“I'm afraid it is possible. To be blunt, Mrs. Hirsch, you and your son are going to be very rich after the war. And if Nicholas joins the firm, Mr. Hirsch has provided a considerable percentage for him.” He had thought of everything, but it was small consolation now. What would they do with all of it without Simon? But as she listened, she knew that Axelle had been right. She owed it to Simon to continue what he had built. It had been his final gift to her, to all of them. And she had to continue for him, and their children.

“Are the men he left in charge capable of handling this?” She narrowed her eyes as she looked at him, as though seeing him for the first time, and he smiled at her. She was beautiful when she smiled, even more beautiful than he had first thought her.

“Yes, I believe they are. They have to answer to us, of course, and,” he met her eyes squarely with his own, “and to you. Mr. Hirsch has made you a director of all his companies. He had great respect for your business sense.” He looked away as tears filled her eyes and she fought to speak in a voice that was barely more than a whisper. He had meant more to her than all his companies, but this man could never understand that.

“I loved him very much.” She stood up and walked away, looking out on Fifth Avenue. She couldn't give up now. She had to go on … for the children … and for him. She turned slowly to face Paul Kelly again. ‘Thank you for coming here” she spoke through her tears and almost took his breath away with her beauty, “I might never have answered your calls.” She hadn't wanted to. She hadn't wanted to face losing Simon, but now she knew she had to.

He laughed ruefully, “I was afraid of that. That's why I came. I hope you'll forgive me for intruding on you.” And then, “It's a beautiful store. My wife shops here whenever she can.” Zoya nodded, thinking of all the favored clients she had neglected and all but forgotten.

“Please tell her to ask for me when she comes in again. We can show her whatever she likes right here in my office.”

“Perhaps it would be kinder to me if you just lock the doors, before she gets here.” He smiled and Zoya smiled in answer. And then he asked her a few questions about Nicholas. She explained that he was in London, flying bombers with the American forces attached to the RAF. “You have a great deal on your plate, don't you, Mrs. Hirsch?” She nodded sadly, and he was touched by how vulnerable she was. She had built an empire of her own, with her husband's help of course, and yet she seemed as delicate as butterfly wings as she sat looking at him from across her desk. “Please let me know if there is anything I can do to help you.” But what could he do? No one could bring Simon back to her, and that was all she wanted.

“I want to spend some time in my husband's offices,” she said, frowning slightly. “If I'm going to be a director of his companies, I'll have to familiarize myself with all of it.” And perhaps in work she would find blessed numbness.

“That might be wise.” He was deeply impressed by her in every possible way. “I wanted to do that myself, and I'll be happy to share all of our information with you.” He was a partner in one of New York's most important law firms on Wall Street, and she guessed that he was about ten years older than she was herself, but the way his eyes danced when he laughed made him look younger. In fact, he was fifty-three, and he looked it. They talked for a little while, and regretfully he stood up. “Shall we meet next week in Simon's office on Seventh Avenue, or would you like me to bring as much as I can here to your office?”

“I'll meet you there. I want them to know they're being watched … by both of us,” she smiled and shook his hand, and then she spoke softly again, “Thank you, Mr. Kelly. Thank you for coming here.”

He smiled again, his Irish charm evident in his eyes. “I'm looking forward to working with you.” She thanked him again and he left, as she sat at her desk and stared. The numbers he had quoted to her from the war contracts were staggering For the son of a tailor from the Lower East Side, he had done a hell of a job. He had built an empire. She smiled at the photograph of Simon again, and quietly left her office, looking like herself again for the first time since he'd died. The saleswomen noticed it too as they scurried past her to wait on their customers, and Zoya took the elevator that afternoon and stopped on each floor to look around at what they were doing. It was time they saw her again. Time for Countess Zoya to go on … with the memory of him close to her heart, as it always would be … like all the people she'd loved. But she couldn't think of them now. There was so much work left to do. For Simon.

CHAPTER

46

By the end of 1942, Zoya was spending one full day a week in Simon's offices on Seventh Avenue, and Paul Kelly was usually there with her. They had begun very formally, as Mr. Kelly and Mrs. Hirsch. She had worn simple black suits, and he had worn pinstripes or dark blue. But after several months, a touch of humor had crept in. He told her terrible jokes and she made him laugh with stories from Countess Zoya. She wore easier clothes to work in after that, and he took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He was deeply impressed by her business acumen, Simon had been right to respect her as he had. At first Paul had thought he was crazy to make her a director, but he was crazy like a fox, and she was even smarter than that. And at the same time, she managed to remain feminine, and she never raised her voice, but it was clear to everyone that she would tolerate no nonsense from anyone. And she kept a sharp eye on the books. Always.

“How did you ever come to all this?” he asked her one day over lunch at Simon's desk. They ordered in sandwiches and were taking a welcome break. Atherton, Kelly, and Schwartz had replaced one of Simon's two top managers the previous day, and there was a lot of cleaning up to do now.

“By mistake,” she laughed, she told him about her days in burlesque, and her job at Axelle's, and long before that dancing with the Ballet Russe. The success of her remarkable store was known to everyone by then. He himself had gone to Yale, and he had married a Boston debutante named Allison O'Keefe. They had had three children in four years, and he spoke of her with respect, but there was no spark in his eyes when he said her name, none of the laughter Zoya had so often shared with him. It came as no surprise to her when he admitted to her late one afternoon after a grueling day that he hated to go home.

“Allison and I have been strangers for years.” She didn't envy him that. She and Simon had been best friends, aside from the physical passion they had shared, which she still remembered with longing.