Danielle Steel: Zoya

“Your mother is amazing,” Julie told Nicholas, and unlike most daughters-in-law, she really meant it. The two women had lunch together from time to time, and by the time little Zoe was five, Zoya had bought her her first tutu and ballet shoes. Marina was twenty-two by then, and a star of major proportions. She had danced all over the world, to rave reviews. She was the darling of ballet devotees everywhere, and the previous year she had even danced in Russia. She had told Zoya excitedly about her visit to Leningrad, which had been St. Petersburg, she had seen the Winter Palace, and even visited the Maryinsky. It brought tears to Zoya's eyes as she listened to her. It was like a dream come true … all those places she had left more than fifty years before, with a piece of her still there, and now Marina had been there. She still talked about going to Russia herself, but claimed that she was saving it for her old age.

“And when will that be, Mom?” Nicholas teased on her seventieth birthday. “I'm getting old faster than you are. I'm almost fifty. The trouble is you don't look it, and I do.”

“Don't be silly, Nicholas, I look absolutely ancient!” But the amazing thing was that she didn't. She was still beautiful, the red hair now white, but always exquisitely groomed, and the neat suits and slim dresses she wore showed her still lovely figure. She was an object of envy to all, and a source of inspiration to all those who knew her. People still came to the store and begged to see The Countess. Matthew was always telling funny stories of people who absolutely insisted they had to see her.

“Rather like the Louvre,” Zoya said dryly, “only somewhat smaller.”

“Now, Mother, don't be modest. Without you, the store would be nothing.”

But it wasn't true anymore. Matthew had applied the merchandising techniques he had learned at business school, and in his first five years, had doubled their sales. He added a new perfume called, of course, “Countess Zoya” the year after that and in the first five years, the sales once again doubled. By 1974, Countess Zoya, the woman and the store, was a legend.

But with the legend came inquiries that interested Matthew, but terrified his mother. Federated wanted to buy the store, as did several other chains, a liquor company, and a company that sold canned foods, but wanted to diversify their investments. Matthew went to Nicholas's office to discuss it all with him, and the two brothers conferred for days. Nicholas was only surprised that the offers hadn't come sooner.

“It's a tribute to you,” Nicholas said quietly, looking fondly at his younger brother. But Matthew only shook his head, and moved swiftly around the room. He was a man who was always in motion. He picked up books, glanced at things in his brother's bookcase, and then turned to face him again as he shook his head.

“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.