Danielle Steel - Remembrance

“I did … then.…”

“And now you don't?” She looked as though she would have liked to hit him, but she didn't dare.

But B.J. stood his ground. He was sure. “Not enough to marry you, Pattie.” His voice was gentle now, in spite of everything she had said. “It would be a terrible mistake.”

“Oh, really.” She pulled the ring from her finger and shoved it into his hand. “I think you just made a terrible mistake, buddy. But I'll let you figure that out for yourself.” He said nothing, but followed her into the room, where she saw her picture, which in a moment of cowardice he had reinstalled. She walked across the room, picked up the silver frame, and hurled it against the wall. The sound of the glass shattering broke the silence between them and as B.J. watched her she began to cry. He moved toward her and put his hands on her shoulders.

“I'm sorry, Pattie.”

“Go to hell!” She spun on her heel to face him. And then in a tone of viciousness, which hit him like a blow, “I hope you rot. In fact, B. J. Fullerton, if I can ever do anything to help screw up your life the way you just loused up mine, I'd be happy to help out. Anytime.”

“Don't say things like that, Pattie.” He felt compassion for her, and wanted to believe that she didn't mean it.

“Why not? Don't you think I mean it?”

“I hope not.” He looked more handsome than ever as he stood there and she hated him, as she looked at him for a last time.

“Don't kid yourself, B.J. I'm not some two-bit dago tramp. Don't expect me to fall at your feet and beg you … and expect me to forgive you either. Because I won't.” And with that, she turned and left the room. He followed her quietly down the stairs, and in the main hallway he offered to accompany her to the Bryces, but she looked at him in cold fury and shook her head. “Just have your driver take me there, B.J. I don't want to see you again.”

“Will you stay on in Rome for a few days? Maybe we could talk a little more quietly tomorrow. There's no reason why we can't be friends in a while. I know it's painful, Pattie, but it's better this way.” She only shook her head.

“I have nothing more to say to you, B.J. You're a skunk, a louse.” Her eyes overflowed. “And I hate you. And if you expect me to keep quiet about this, you're crazy.” Her eyes narrowed viciously again. “Everyone in New York is going to know what you're doing over here, B.J. Because I'm going to tell them. And if you bring that girl back with you, God help you, because they'll laugh you out of town.”

It was obvious from the way he looked at her that he wasn't afraid of Pattie, but he was angry at what she had just said. “Don't do anything you'll regret.”

“Someone should have told you that before you ditched me.” And with that, she walked past him and out the door. She slammed it behind her, and B.J. stood there for a long moment, wondering if he should go after her, and knowing that he could not. The orderlies had discreetly disappeared when they heard them coming, and a moment later B.J. quietly went back upstairs. He needed a moment to himself to think over what had happened, but he knew even then that he wasn't sorry. He didn't love her. Of that he was now certain. But he did love Serena, and now he would have to make all right with her. God knows what she had heard as Pattie shrieked at him on the balcony. As he remembered her words he suddenly realized that there was not a moment to lose in finding Serena, but as he left his office to find her, his secretary stopped him. There was an urgent phone call from headquarters in Milan. And it was two hours later before he could get away again.

He went quietly to their quarters, knocked on the door, and was answered instantly by Marcella.

“Serena?” She pulled the door open rapidly with tears on her face and a handkerchief in her hand, and she seemed even more overwrought when she saw B.J.

“Isn't she here?” He looked startled, as Marcella shook her head and began to cry again.

“No.” She assaulted him instantly with a flood of Italian, and gently he stopped her, holding the old shaking shoulders in both of his hands.

“Marcella, where is she?”

“Non so … I don't know.” And then suddenly it hit him, as the old woman cried harder and pointed to the empty room behind her. “She took her suitcase, Major. She is gone.”

10

The major had sat with Marcella for almost an hour, trying to piece together what had happened and figure out where she might have gone. There weren't many places he could think of. She certainly wouldn't go to her grandmother's house in Venice with strangers living there, and as far as Marcella knew, there was nowhere else. She had no friends or relatives to go to, and the only thing that B.J. could think of was that she had gone back to the States. But she couldn't have done that at a moment's notice. She'd have to get another visa and make arrangements. Maybe she was staying somewhere in Rome and she would attempt to get a visa back to America in the morning. He couldn't call the American Embassy until the morning to check on that. There was nothing he could do. He felt powerless, empty, and afraid.

Brad questioned Marcella until the old peasant woman was wrung dry. Serena had run into their quarters from the door that led into the garden, rushed into her room, and locked the door. Marcella knew that because she had tried to go in when she had heard her crying, but Serena wouldn't let her in.

Half an hour later Serena had emerged, red eyed, pale, and with her suitcase in her hand. She had told Marcella simply that she was leaving, and in answer to the old woman's tears and entreaties, she had said only that she had no choice. At first Marcella thought that she had been fired, at this the old woman cast a sidelong glance of apology at the major, explaining that she had thought that it was all because of him. But Serena had insisted that it wasn't, that it was a problem that had nothing to do with him, and that she had to leave Rome at once. Marcella wondered if she was in danger, because the girl had looked so distraught that it was hard to tell if she were only upset or also frightened, and with tears, and kisses, and a last hug, Serena fled. Marcella had been sobbing hopelessly in her room for almost two hours when she heard the major's knock on the door, and hoped that it was Serena, having changed her mind.

“And that is all I know, Major.…” Marcella dissolved in tears again and clung to the sympathetic young American. “Why did she go? Perché? Non capisco …noncapisco… . ”All he could do was comfort her. How could he explain any of it to Marcella? He couldn't. He would have to live with that hell himself.

“Marcella, listen to me.” The old woman only sobbed more loudly. “Shh … listen.… I promise you. I'll find her. Domani vado a trovarla.”

“Ma dove?” But where? It was a hopeless wail. All those years of not seeing Serena, and now she was back and Marcella had lost her again.

“ Non so dove, Marcella. I don't know where. But I'll find her.” And then he squeezed the old shoulders and went quietly back to his own rooms. He sat in the darkness for what seemed like hours, thinking, turning things over in his mind, remembering snatches of conversation he had had with her. But no matter how deep he dug, how far into the memories, he came up blank. She had no one now except Marcella, and he realized once again how devastated she must have been to leave the old woman and the only home she had. A shaft of guilt shot through him again as he remembered the argument he had had with Pattie. He thought of what it must have sounded like at a distance, of what Serena must have thought, watching them, seeing them together, and then listening to the American woman's angry words.