Danielle Steel - Remembrance

But neither of them were thinking of anything but each other as they met for a last time in his office an hour later, and he held her and kissed her once more, as they looked out into the bleak garden and remembered how it had looked in the summer and fall. And then, gently, he turned her face toward his and kissed her for the last time.

“You'll come in two weeks?”

“I'll come.” But they both knew that it wasn't sure.

“If not, I'll fly back to Rome.” And then what? An abyss of loneliness for both of them over the years. She had condemned them to a difficult loss with her staunch principles about not being good enough for him to marry. And he couldn't help trying again. “Serena … please … will you reconsider … please … let's get married.” But she only shook her head, unable to speak at the pain of seeing him go, her face washed with tears. “Oh, God, how I love you.”

“I love you too.” It was all she could say before the orderlies came to get him, and after he left the room, she let out an almost animal moan as she steadied herself against the wall and stared out into the garden. In a few minutes he would be gone … she would have lost him forever … the thought was almost more than she could bear, and she ran breathlessly down to the garden near where she and Marcella lived. She knew he would see her there as he drove away, and that way she wouldn't have to stand with the others, and only Brad and his driver would see her face contorted in sadness. As it was, when he drove past, she saw that he was crying too, his face somber and pale at the window of the car, and his face wet with silent tears as the driver pressed relentlessly forward. And then, all she saw was a face at the rear window, until finally the car that bore him, away disappeared.

She walked slowly inside then, with a look of glazed pain, and walked straight into her room and closed the door. Marcella said nothing at all to her. It was too late for reproach. She had made her decision and now she would live by it, if it killed her. And after two days of her lying there, Marcella feared that it would. By the third day Marcella was truly frightened. Serena refused to get up, wouldn't eat, never seemed to sleep. She just lay there, crying silently and staring at the ceiling. She didn't even get out of her bed the one time that he called and the orderly came to tell Marcella. She was beginning to panic and the next day she went to the orderly herself.

“I have to call the major,” she announced firmly, trying to make it look as though it were official business, as she stood in the secretary's office in a clean apron with a freshly pressed scarf on her head.

“Major Appleby?” The secretary looked surprised. The new major wasn't due until the next morning. Maybe the old woman wanted to quit. They were all beginning to wonder if her niece would. No one had seen Serena since Major Fullerton had left.

“No. I want to call Major Fullerton in Paris. I will pay for it myself. But you must make the call and I wish to speak to him in private.”

“I'll see what I can do.” The secretary glanced at the indomitable old woman and promised that he would do his best. “I'll come and get you, if I get him on the line.” As it happened, luck was with him and he got hold of B.J. less than an hour later, sitting bleakly in his new office, wondering why Serena wouldn't take his call. He didn't have good news for her anyway. Her traveling papers for a weekend in Paris had been denied. There had been some vague hint about fraternization being frowned on, and it was deemed “wisest to leave one's indiscretions behind.” He had burned angrily when he had got word, and now he knew he had to tell her. All he could offer was to come back to Rome in a few weeks, when he could get away, but he had no idea yet as to when. He was sitting staring out into the Paris rain on the Place du Palais-Bourbon in the Seventh Arrondissement, when the call came in from his old secretary in Rome, and he gave a little start and smiled to hear a familiar voice. “I'm calling for Marcella, Major. She said it was important and private. I've just sent someone to fetch her. You'll have to hang on for a minute, if that's all right with you.”

“It's fine.” But he was suddenly very frightened. What if something had happened? Serena could have had an accident, or she could have run off to that godforsaken farm again, and this time he wasn't there to go and get her, she could fall in the well, she could break her leg, she could.… “Is everything all right there, Palmers?” He spoke to his secretary with concern and the junior man smiled.

“Fine, sir.”

“Everyone still on board?” He was asking about Serena but didn't quite dare say her name.

“Pretty much. We haven't seen much of Marcella's niece, in fact we haven't seen her since you left, sir, but Marcella says she's sick and she'll be fine in a few days.” Oh, Christ. It could have meant anything, but before Brad could give much thought to his worst fears, the secretary spoke again. “Here's Marcella now, sir. Think you can manage with her English, or do you want someone on an extension to help?”

“No, we'll manage on our own, thanks.” B.J. found himself wondering how many of them knew. No matter how discreet he and Serena had been, somehow those things always got around. It had certainly got to Paris. “Thanks, Palmers, good to talk to you.”

“And to you, sir. Here she is.”

“Maggiore?” The old woman's voice came to him like a breath of fresh air.

“Yes, Marcella. Is everything all right? Serena?” In answer to his question he was pelted with a hailstorm of rapid Italian, almost none of which he understood, except the words eating and sleeping, but he wasn't sure who was eating and sleeping and why Marcella was so concerned. “Wait a minute! Hang on! Piano! Piano! Slowly! Non capisco. Is it Serena?”

“St.”

“Is she sick?” He was assaulted with more rapid-fire Italian, and once again begged the old woman to slow down. This time she did.

“She ate nothing, she drank nothing, she neither slept nor got up. She just cried and cried and cried and …” Now it was Marcella who began to cry. “She is going to die, Maggiore. I know it. I saw my own mother die the same way.”

“She's nineteen years old, Marcella. She is not going to die.” I won't let her, he thought to himself. “Have you tried to get her up?”

“Si. Ogni ora. Every hour. But she doesn't get up. She doesn't listen. She does nothing. She is sick.”

“Have you called the doctor?”

“She's not sick like that. She is sick for you, Maggiore.” He was sick for her, and the damn crazy girl had refused to marry him because of her silly notions of protecting him, and now they were up the creek. “What can we do?”

He narrowed his eyes and stared out at the December rain. “Get her to the phone. I want to talk to her.”

“She no come.” Marcella looked more worried again. “Yesterday when you call, she no come.”

“Tonight when I call, you get her to the phone, Marcella, if you have to drag her.” He silently cursed the fact that there was no phone in the servants' rooms. “I want to talk to her.”

“Ecco. Va bene.”

“Can you do it?”

“I do it. You go to Umbría to find her, now I got to bring her to the phone. Facciamo miracoli insieme.” She grinned in her half-toothless smile. She had just told him that they made miracles together. And it was going to take a miracle to get Serena out of her bed.

“See if you can't get her up for a few minutes first. Otherwise she'll be too weak. Wait a minute.” He thought for a moment. “I have an idea. There's no one in the guest bedroom right now, is there?” Marcella thought for a minute and shook her head.