“How did you know?”
“Your mother talks about you all the time.”
“I talk about her too,” he smiled, slipping an arm around her, as Zoya told him he had grown. He was almost fifteen years old, and he was already as tall as Clayton had been. “Did you have fiin?” He asked as they waited for her trunks, so the customs officer could inspect them.
“I did. But I missed you too much.” She said something to him in Russian then, and he laughed, and Simon laughed too, as Zoya realized he had understood her. “That's not fair!” She had told him that his hair was too long, and he looked like a large lovably shaggy dog. But Nicholas was suddenly interested in Simon as they stood on the dock together.
“So you speak Russian, sir?”
“A little bit. My parents are from Vladivostok. My mother used to say things like that to me in Russian too, sometimes she still does.” They all laughed, and a moment later the bags were checked, and Axelle and Zoya were free to go, and as they drove away, Simon stood watching them, waving for a long time, as in the car Nicholas asked his mother, in Russian again.
“Who was that?”
“A friend of Axelle's. He happened to be on the ship with us.”
“He seems like a nice man.” Nicholas looked unimpressed.
“He is,” Zoya said noncommittaily, and asked him how Sasha was.
“As impossible as she always is. Now she wants a dog. A wolfhound, if you please. She says they're ‘all the rage,’ and she's going to drive you crazy till she gets one. I think they're horrible. If we get anything, let's get a pug, or a boxer.”
“Who said we were going to get a dog?”
“Sasha did, and what Sasha wants, she gets.” Axelle smiled. They had switched from Russian to French, when Zoya told him not to be rude to Axelle.
“Is that so?”
“Isn't it?” Nicholas accused with a grin.
“Not all the time,” she blushed, but he was right, she was a very persistent child, and sometimes it was easier to give in to her, just to keep the peace. “Other than that, has she behaved?” He had stopped in to see her every day, Zoya knew, although he had been staying with a friend, and she was at home with a baby-sitter.
Nicholas groaned in answer. “Yesterday she had a fit when I said she couldn't go to the movies with a friend. But she hadn't done her homework yet, and it was too late anyway. I'm sure she'll tell you about that the minute you walk in.”
“Welcome home,” Axelle smiled, and Zoya laughed. She had missed them a great deal, but she knew she was going to miss Simon now too, and he had been so sweet to Nicholas when they met.
“Your friend seemed nice,” he said politely to Axelle on the way home.
“I think so too.” She looked pointedly at Zoya as the boy chattered on, and she silently hoped that Zoya would see Simon again once they were home.
Soon after she arrived home a huge bouquet of roses was delivered. The card said only, “Don't forget, Love, S.” and she blushed as she tucked the card into her desk, and turned her attention to her daughter, who, as predicted, was complaining furiously about her brother.
“I've just gotten home, give me a minute to adjust!” Zoya laughed.
“Can we get a dog?” Nicholas had been right. The demands were endless in the first two hours, and she was scarcely mollified by the new red dress. But Nicholas was thrilled with his watch, and the clothes and the new books. He threw his arms around her neck and kissed her warmly on the cheek.
“Welcome home, Mama”
“I love you, sweetheart … and you too,” she pulled Sasha into the circle of her arms also.
“What about the dog?” Sasha inquired as her mother laughed.
“We'll see, Sasha … we'll see …” The phone spared her then, and she went to answer it. It was Simon, and she thanked him for the roses as she laughed at Nicholas and Sasha arguing about the mythical wolfhound.
“Do you miss me yet?”
“Very much. I think I need a referee here.”
“Excellent. I'll apply for the job. How about dinner tomorrow night?”
“How about a dog?” she laughed and he sounded confused, he could hear the excitement at the other end.
“You want to eat a dog?”
“That's a nice thought,” she laughed again, suddenly missing him more than she thought she would.
“I'll pick you up at eight o'clock.” But she panicked as she thought about it. What would the children say? What would Nicholas think? She wanted to call him back and tell him she'd changed her mind, but even after they went to bed, she couldn't bring herself to do it.
He appeared promptly at eight o'clock the following night, and rang the bell, just as Zoya came out of her room. The apartment was small, but simple and elegant. They had very few things, but nowadays what they had was good. He stood in the doorway looking larger than life, and as she ushered him inside, she saw Sasha staring at him.
“Who's that?” Sasha inquired, making her mother furious that she was so rude. Nicholas was right about her.
“This is Mr. Hirsch, may I present my daughter, Alexandra?”
“How do you do?” He shook her hand solemnly and with that Nicholas wandered in.
“Oh hello … how are you?” He smiled ingenuously, and was telling Sasha what a pest she was as they left. Zoya smiled as she closed the door, and they waited for the elevator to take them down. She was worried about the look she'd seen in Sasha's eyes. It was as though she knew why he was there, but Simon told her he had expected it and he had a very thick skin, so not to worry.
He took her to dinner at “21,” and they talked for hours, as they had on the ship. And then slowly he walked her home, and kissed her gently as they stood a few feet from her house.
“I can't stand not seeing you. I was like a kid waiting for Christmas all day today. Why don't we take the children somewhere tomorrow afternoon?” It would be Sunday and she didn't have to work, and she liked the idea, but she was also nervous about what Sasha would say, or even gentle Nicholas.
“What will the children think?”
“They'll think that they have a new friend. Is that so terrible?”
“They might be very rude to you again.”
“I can handle it. Zoya, I don't think you understand. This is everything I want. I meant what I told you on the ship. I love you.”
“How do you know? How can you be so sure?” She was still afraid of what she felt for him, but she had missed him all day too, and she hated to leave him now, even until the next day. How was it possible? How had it happened to her sifter all these years? She knew she was in love with him too. But she didn't know what to do about it yet. She still wanted to run away, and she was no longer sure she could.
“Just give it a chance, my love.” He kissed her again. “I'll come to pick you all up at noon.”
“You're a very brave man.”
He smiled at her happily. “Not as brave as you, my love. See you tomorrow. Maybe we'll take a drive somewhere.”
“The children would love that.”
And the next morning, when he arrived, in spite of Sasha's complaints that she wanted to play with her dolls, they drove to Long Island and loved it. Nicholas almost fainted when he saw the car, a brand-new Cadillac, in a distinguished shade of dark green, with white sidewall tires, and every possible new device. He had never seen anything so beautiful, and Simon invited him to sit next to him in the front seat.
“Would you like to drive it, son?” He waited until they were on a back road, and actually let Nicholas take the wheel. The boy felt as though he had died and gone to heaven, as Zoya watched him from where she sat in the backseat with Sasha. Simon was right, the boy needed a man in his life. He needed a friend. Even Sasha seemed to behave better than she had in months, and she flirted mercilessly with Simon as they drove home again. He had taken them to lunch at a little restaurant he knew. They ate oysters and shrimp, and for dessert they had ice cream.
“Well, Co
untess Ossupov,” he teased, once the children had gone to bed, and he was sitting in the living room with her. “How did I do? Pass or fail?”
“What do you think? Nicholas was never so happy in his life, and I think Sasha is in love with you.”
“And her mother?” He looked at her seriously, gazing into her eyes, as she avoided his, and then slowly she turned to him. “What do you say, Zoya … will you marry me?”
She felt as though she had swallowed her heart as she whispered to him, and held out a hand, “Yes … yes, Simon, I will.” He looked as though he were going to faint, and she wondered if she'd gone mad. It was a crazy thing to do and she scarcely knew the man, but she knew she couldn't live without him.
“Do you mean it?” he asked quietly, afraid to believe his ears, as he pulled her into his arms and she looked up at him with a frightened smile.
“Yes, Simon, I mean it.”
CHAPTER
38
Axelle was stunned when Zoya told her at work the next day that she was getting married. She had hoped that something would come of the relationship, but she had never imagined that it would happen so quickly.
“What do the children think?” she asked, as Zoya looked at her, still amazed herself at what she'd done, or what she'd agreed to. They had agreed to wait for a while, to let the children get used to him first. And Zoya wasn't ready to get married immediately either. After all her years alone, Simon knew she needed time to get used to the idea, and he was ready to give her all the time she needed, within reason.
“We haven't told them yet. But they seem to like him.” She told her about the drive to Long Island. It had truly been a whirlwind romance. They had only known each other for a few weeks, and yet Zoya knew that he was a good man, and she also knew that she loved him.
He stopped by at the shop that afternoon, and brought flowers to her, and to Axelle. The older woman was touched that he had thought of her, and he thanked her for championing their romance.
“Just don't steal her from me too soon, Mr. Hirsch.” She already hated the thought, but they both assured her that they were going to proceed slowly. And he still had to introduce her to his parents. And there was more than that that needed tending to. That weekend he knew both children were staying with friends, and without warning her, he showed up at Zoya's apartment on Saturday morning. He was carrying a huge bouquet of white lilacs, and a mysterious smile, which Zoya pretended not to notice.
“You're looking very pleased with yourself, Mr. Hirsch.”
“Why shouldn't I? I happen to be engaged to a very beautiful, very wonderful woman.” He kissed her and she took the lilacs to the kitchen to arrange them, and he found her there, selecting a vase of heavy cut crystal. She had bought it because it reminded her of one that her mother always used for flowers from their garden at the Fontanka Palace.
“They're lovely, aren't they?” She took a step back to admire them, and found herself in Simon's arms, as he gently turned her toward him and kissed her.
“Not as lovely as you are.” She nestled in his arms silently for a moment, enjoying his gentleness and his warmth, and stroking her hair, he looked down at her and murmured. “Let's go for a drive somewhere. It's a beautiful day today.” And he knew that she didn't have to rush back for the children.
“That's a lovely idea.” She smiled happily at him, and he wandered back into the living room, while she went to change into white slacks and a white cashmere sweater. He glanced at the photographs in silver frames everywhere, and stopped in amazement in front of one of the Romanov children, seeming to hang upside down, while making funny faces at the person taking the picture. And as he looked at it carefully, he realized that one of the young girls in tennis garb was a much younger Zoya, and he correctly guessed that the girl next to her was Marie, and the others were her sisters. It still amazed him to realize the history she had lived. But it was long in the distant past now. Even the photograph was fraying and faded. And there were others, of Sasha and Nicholas, and several of Clayton. He was a distinguished-looking man, and Zoya looked happy standing beside him.
“What are you doing in here so quietly?” She smiled as she walked back into the room, looking beautiful in the white slacks and sweater. There were times when she reminded him of Katharine Hepburn.
“I was looking at some of your photographs. Nicholas looks a lot like his father, doesn't he?”
“Sometimes.” She smiled. “And a little bit like my father too.” She picked up a large silver frame that held a photograph of her parents and handed it to Simon. “And a bit like my brother.” She pointed to another on the table, as Simon nodded.
“They're a distinguished-looking group.” As always, he was impressed by her aristocratic ancestors, but Zoya smiled sadly.
“That's all such a long time ago.” It was hard to believe that it had been twenty years since she'd seen her parents. “Sometimes I think one should only live in the present. The past is only a heavy burden to carry with you. And yet …” She looked up at him with wise eyes, “it's so hard to let them go … to forget … to move ahead …” It was why she had wanted to wait a little while until they married. She still had some letting-go to do. She still had a giant step to make, from the past to the present. But he understood that and he wasn't rushing her. He knew she needed time and he was willing to be patient. Especially now that she had agreed to marry him. With that promise made, he could wait for her, and help her to make the transition.
“I think we let go when we're ready to. Speaking of which, are you ready to go?”
“Yes, sir.” She was carrying a dark blue flannel blazer, and a few minutes later they were in his car, driving to what he described as a “secret destination.” “Does this mean I'm being abducted, Mr. Hirsch?” She was laughing, and she felt young as they drove along in the sunshine. It was a nice carefree feeling not having to worry about the children. It was different when she had to think of them, it made her feel more serious and less romantic. But now all she had to think about was enjoying Simon.
And he laughed at her suggestion. “Abducting you is the best idea I've had since we met. Come to think of it, I should have done it in Paris.” But he was willing to settle for Connecticut, as they drove along the Merritt Parkway. He was telling her about his business, and some of his thoughts about his fall collection. He loved talking to her, about anything and everything, and his hope that one day he would collect important paintings. He was particularly fond of the Impressionists, and Zoya told him of her parents’ collection in Russia.
“I'm not sure ‘things’ are that important to me anymore. It's funny, I think I used to take all of the beautiful things around me for granted. But having lost everything once, and then sold everything I had with Clayton, it just doesn't mean that much to me anymore.” She smiled slowly at him with loving eyes, “the people in my life are more important.” He quietly reached out and touched her fingers across the table as they ate lunch, and their hands met and held, and a little while later, they left and talked quietly as they continued their drive through the country. It was late afternoon by then, and Zoya was relaxed as she leaned against him.
“Tired?”
She stifled a yawn and then laughed as she shook her head. “No, just happy.”
“We'll go back in a while. There's a place I want to show you first.”
“Where?” She loved being with him. Everything about him made her feel safe and loved and happy.
“It's a secret.”
She giggled and half an hour later she was amazed when she saw it. It was a little English cottage on a back road Simon knew, with a picket fence around it, huge shade trees and a profusion of rose bushes that let off a heady fragrance as they got out of the car and looked around them.
“Whose house is this, Simon?”
“I wish I could say it was mine. It belongs to a wonderful English lady who made an inn of it, in order to support it. I found it years ago, and sometimes I just come here to unwind fro
m all the craziness in New York. Come inside, I want you to meet her.” He didn't tell Zoya, but he had called Mrs. Whitman early that morning and warned her of their arrival. And when they stepped into the cozy living room, done in lovely English floral chintzes, there was a proper English tea waiting for them. Her silver teapot gleamed invitingly and there were plates filled with delicate sandwiches and little cakes, and what Mrs. Whitman referred to as “biscuits” She was a tall, thin, white-haired woman, with a clipped accent, laughing eyes, and long, graceful hands roughened by her work in the garden. And it was obvious that she had been expecting Simon and Zoya.
“How good to see you again, Mr. Hirsch.” She shook hands genially and looked appreciatively at Zoya, and she looked approving when Simon introduced her as his fiancoe. “What good news! Are you recently engaged then?”
“Very.” They answered in unison and then laughed, as Mrs. Whitman poured them each a cup of tea and invited them to sit down in her comfortable little parlor. There was a pretty fireplace, and handsome English antiques she had brought with her fifty years before. She had lived in London, and then New York, and when her husband died, she had retired to the country. She recognized Zoya's accent at once, and something about Zoya's bearing told her that there was a lot more to Zoya than met the eye. She thought Simon had made a wise and interesting choice, and much to Zoya's amusement, she said so. And in celebration of their engagement, she brought out a bottle of her very best sherry.
The sun set over the garden as she toasted them, and a little while later, she quietly took her glass and left the room, with a discreet look at Simon. Her own quarters were at the back of the house, and when she had important guests, she let them use the parlor as well as the upstairs bedrooms. There were two, with a large Victorian bath connecting them, and beautiful canopied beds she had had sent over from England.
“Come and look.” Simon was telling Zoya all about it, and Zoya looked hesitant.
“Won't she mind, Simon?” She was still trying to figure out where Mrs. Whitman had gone. She had been gone for ages, but it was so cozy sitting in the cheerful living room drinking sherry with him that Zoya didn't mind. But she felt strange going upstairs without an invitation.
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