“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.
“Why do you stay married to her?” The whole world seemed to be getting divorced, and then she remembered before he even answered her, with a look of regret.
“We're both Catholic, Zoya. She'd never agree to it. I tried about ten years ago. She had a nervous breakdown, or so she claimed, and she's never been the same since. I can't leave her now. And, well …” He hesitated, and then decided to be honest with her. She was a woman he could trust, in the past year they had become fast friends. “To be honest with you, she drinks. I couldn't live with myself if I were responsible for something happening to her.”
&nbs
p; “It doesn't sound like much fun for you,” an icy Boston debutante who drank and wouldn't give him a divorce. Zoya almost shuddered at the thought, but she saw a lot of women like that at the store, women who shopped because they were bored, and never wore what they took home because they didn't really care how they looked. “It must be lonely for you,” she looked at him with gentle eyes, and he reminded himself not to say too much. They had to work together every week, and he had learned that lesson long since. There had been other women in his life, but they never meant very much to him. They were just someone to talk to once in a while, or to make love to occasionally, but he had never met anyone like Zoya before, and he hadn't felt this way about a woman in years, or perhaps ever.
“I have my work to keep me going,” he smiled gently at her, “just like you.” He knew how hard she worked. It was all she lived for now, that and the children she loved so dearly.
By 1943, they were having dinner together every Monday night, when they left Simon's offices. It became an opportunity to discuss at greater length whatever they had done that day, and they usually ate at the little restaurants just off Seventh Avenue.
“How's Matt?” He smiled at her one night that spring.
“Matthew? He's fine.” He was three and a half, and the light of her life. “He makes me feel young again.” It was ironic that she had thought she was too old to have a child when he was born, and yet he gave her the most joy of all now. Sasha was out so much, it was almost as though she were gone. She had just turned eighteen. He had seen Sasha once, and was stunned by how beautiful she was. But he suspected what a handful she was for Zoya too. More than once Zoya had said that she could barely keep her in school. And Nicholas was still in London, and she prayed for his safe return night and day.
“How are your children, Paul?” He didn't talk about them much. His daughters were both married, one in Chicago, and the other on the West Coast, and his son was somewhere around Guam. And he had two grandchildren in California he seldom saw. His wife didn't like to go to California and he was afraid to leave her alone at home.
“My kids are fine, I guess,” he smiled, “they're so long gone from the nest, we don't hear from them much. Their childhoods weren't easy anyway, with Allison drinking so much. Something like that changes everything,” and then he smiled at her, he always liked hearing her news. “What's new at the store?”
“Not much. I opened a new department, for men this time, and we're trying out some new lines. It's going to be nice to get to Europe again, after the war, so we can try new things.” But there was no end in sight as it raged on across the Atlantic.
“I'd love to go back to Europe again sometime. By myself,” he grinned at her honestly. Baby-sitting for his wife was no fun, as she made her way from bar to bar, or hid in her room, pretending to be tired instead of drunk. Zoya wondered why he put up with it. It seemed to be a terrible burden on him, and she said as much when he took her home and she invited him up for a drink. He had only been in her apartment once before, and he remembered only an impression that it was cozy and warm, the way she was when she looked at him. He went up happily in the elevator with her, and sat on the couch in the library as she poured him a drink. She had called out to Sasha when they arrived, but the maid was out and Sasha wasn't home yet. Only Matthew was there, asleep in his room with his nanny.
“Tfou ought to take a holiday somewhere sometime, Paul. Go to California and see your children by yourself. Why should your life be crippled by what your wife does?”
“You're right, but it's not much fun alone.” He was always comfortable and honest with her, as he was now as he sipped his drink, and watched Zoya where she sat. She was wearing a white dress and her hair was pulled back like a girl's.
“No, it's not much fun to do things alone.” She smiled. “But I'm getting used to it.” It had been brutal getting used to a life without Simon.
“Don't get used to it, Zoya. It's lousy.” He said it with such vehemence, Zoya looked startled. “You deserve more than that.” He had spent his life alone and he didn't want to see it happen to her. She was vibrant and beautiful and alive and she deserved more than the loneliness he knew too well.
But she only laughed and shook her head. “I'm forty-four years old, I'm too old to start again.” And she knew that no one would ever measure up to Simon.
“Bullshit, I'm almost fifty-five, and if I had the chance to start again, I'd leap at it.” It was the first time he had said that to her, as he stretched his long legs out before him, his shock of white hair smoothly combed, his eyes alive as he looked at her. He always loved being with her. He looked forward to their hardworking Mondays all week. They were what kept him going.
I'm happy like this.” She was lying to herself more than to him. She wasn't happy, but it was all she had now.
“No, you're not. Why should you be?”
“Because it's all I have,” she spoke quietly, wise enough to accept her life as it was, rather than longing for a past that was gone forever. She had done that before, and she wouldn't do it again. She had to be content with what she had, her children and her work, and once a week her talks with Paul Kelly.
He was looking hard at her then, and without saying a word he set his glass down, and went to sit next to her, staring at her intently with the blue eyes that bored into her. “I just want you to know something. I can't do a damn thing about it, and I can't offer you anything right now, but Zoya … I love you. I have since the day we met. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me.” She looked stunned as he looked at her, and then without saying another word he took her in his arms and kissed her hard on the mouth, feeling his heart soar and his whole body ache for her, “You are so beautiful … and so strong …”
“Don't say that, Paul … don't …” She wanted to push him away, but she couldn't bring herself to. She felt so guilty for wanting him, it seemed to deny Simon's very memory, and yet she couldn't stop herself as she kissed him again, and clung to him as though she were drowning.
“I love you so much,” he whispered, kissing her again, his powerful arms holding her close, feeling her heart beat against his chest, and then he looked at her and smiled. “Let's go somewhere … away … anywhere … it would do us both good”
“I can't”
“Yes, you can … we can.” He held tightly to her hand and felt himself come alive again. The years seemed to fall away from him as he looked at her. He was young again and he wasn't going to let her get away from him. If he had to live with Allison for the rest of his life, then maybe at least, for one shining moment, he could have Zoya.
“Paul, this is crazy,” she pulled away from him, and walked around the room, seeing Simon's face in their photographs, glancing at his trophies, his treasures, his art books. “We don't have a right to this.”
But he wasn't going to let her go now. If she had slapped his face, he would have apologized and left, but he could see now that she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. “Why not? Who makes those rules? You're not married. I am, but not in any way that means anything to anyone. I haven't been in years. I'm trapped in a marriage of form to a woman who doesn't even know I'm alive, and hasn't loved me in years, if she ever did … don't I have a right to more than that? I'm in love with you,” his eyes fought for what he so desperately wanted, as she watched him.
“Why? Why do you love me, Paul?”
“Because you're exactly what and who I've always wanted.”
“I can't give you very much.” She was honest with him, as she had always been with Clayton and Simon. “Even a little of you will be enough, I understand that.” And then, more quietly he kissed her, and much to her own amazement, she didn't fight him. They sat and talked for hours after that, kissing, holding hands, and it was after midnight when he left, promising to call her the next day, and she sat in the quiet apartment, feeling guilty when he left. It was wrong, it had to be … wasn't it? What would Simon think? But Simon wouldn't think anything, he was gone
, and she was alive, and Paul Kelly meant something to her too. She valued his friendship, and he had stirred something in her she had all but forgotten. She was still sitting there, thinking about him, when she heard Sasha come in, and she walked quietly into her room. She was wearing a bright red dress and her makeup was smeared, and Zoya didn't like the look on her face. She suspected that she was drunk, and she had confronted her about it before. She faced her with tired eyes now. It was exhausting always fighting with her.
“Where have you been?” Her voice was calm, she was still thinking of Paul as she looked her daughter over.
“Out.” She turned her back so her mother couldn't see her face. Zoya was right. She was drunk, but still beautiful.
“Doing what?”
“Having dinner with a friend.”
“Sasha, you're only eighteen, you can't run around anywhere you like. What about school?”
“I graduate in two months, what difference does it make now?”
“It makes a big difference to me. You have to behave yourself. People will talk if you're too wild, they know who you are, who I am. You don't want all that, Sasha. Please be sensible.” But there was no hope of that, and hadn't been long since. Since Simon had died and her brother had gone, Sasha had run wild, and Zoya had almost given up hope of controlling her, she was afraid to lose her entirely. More than once, she had threatened to move out, which would have been even worse. At least this way Zoya had some idea of what was going on and what she was doing.
“That's a lot of old-fashioned crap,” Sasha said as she tossed her dress on the floor and stalked the room in her slip. “People don't believe in that garbage these days.”
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