“People believe in the same things they always did. You're coming out this year. You don't want them saying ugly things about you, sweetheart.” Sasha shrugged and didn't answer her, and with a sigh Zoya kissed her good night, smelling the liquor on her breath, the smoke in her hair, as she looked at her unhappily. “I don't want you to drink.”
“Why not? I'm of age.”
“That's not the point.”
Sasha only shrugged again and turned her back until her mother left. It was pointless even talking to her. Zoya longed for Nicholas to come home, maybe he would still have some influence on her. Surely no one else did. And now Zoya worried about what would happen when Sasha started coming into the money Simon had left. She would really go wild then, if someone didn't stop her before that. She was still thinking about it when the phone rang at one o'clock. Her heart stopped for an instant, fearing terrible news. But it was Paul. He was at home, but he had decided to call her. Allison slept locked in her own room, and after leaving Zoya's warmth, he was doubly lonely.
“I just wanted to tell you how much tonight meant to me. you've given me something very special.”
“I don't know how, Paul,” her voice was low and soft, and in her mind, she had given him very little. A few kisses and the warmth of a moment.
“You're making my life exciting again. Just our Monday nights make the rest of my life worth living.”
She realized then how much she'd looked forward to them too, he was intelligent and kind and amusing.
“I'm going to miss you this week.” And then he smiled, “do you suppose lightning would strike if we met on a Tuesday?”
“Do you suppose we should try it?” She felt very bold as she said it. And they both laughed like happy children.
“Let's have lunch tomorrow and find out.” He was smiling as he hadn't in years. She made him feel like a boy, and there was something about him that made her feel happy and peaceful.
“Do you suppose we should?” She wanted to feel guilty, but oddly enough she didn't. She had the odd feeling that Simon would have understood it.
“Tomorrow at one o'clock?”
“Make it noon.” Her hand trembled as they hung up. It was a crazy thing to do … and yet, she didn't want to stop. She remembered the touch of his lips on hers in the library that night, and there was something innocent and sweet about it. He was her friend, no matter what happened now. He was someone she could work with and talk to, and spend time with, discussing his business and her children. He listened to her, and he seemed to care about what happened. She wondered if that was wrong but that night, when she slept, she dreamt of Simon, and he was standing next to Paul Kelly, and smiling.
CHAPTER
47
Paul arrived at the store shortly before noon the following day, and found her sitting in her office going over her work with a serious look and a pen stuck in her hair. He knocked softly on the door, and smiled as he opened it and saw her sitting at her desk.
“That's a familiar picture,” he smiled as she looked up at him. “Too busy, Zoya? Should I come back later?”
“No, it's all right. It can wait,” she smiled, enjoying the warmth of their friendship. He had been looking forward to seeing her all day, and he was struck again when she stood up and went to get her handbag by how lovely she was. She was still a remarkably beautiful woman.
“Rough day?” he asked, with his warm Irish smile.
“Not as rough as it could be.” Her smile answered his, pleased that he had come to see her. It was easier meeting him here than in Simon's office. This was her turf, not his, and it allowed Paul to share her present more than her past, which suddenly seemed more important.
They walked to lunch at “21,” and at three o'clock they were still talking and laughing. Spencer Tracy was at a table nearby, with a woman in a large hat and dark glasses, and Zoya wondered who she was, but Paul wasn't interested in her. He couldn't take his eyes off Zoya.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked finally, her eyes searching his, but comforted by what she saw there. There was only kindness and strength, and all the good feelings he had for Zoya.
“Because I love you,” he said very softly. “I never intended to fall in love with you, but I did. Is that so wrong?” She couldn't tell him that it was, after all she knew of the emptiness of his life with Allison.
“It's not wrong. But, Paul …” She hesitated and then went on,”… what will we have if we indulge ourselves? A few stolen moments from time to time. Is that what you want?”
“If that's all there is, I'll be grateful. To me, they are treasured hours with you, Zoya. The rest is … well, whatever it has to be.” And he instinctively knew that she didn't want more than that from him. She had her children, the store, and her memories of Simon. “I won't ask you for more than that. I don't have a right to. I won't lie to you. Ever. You know that I can't leave Allison, and if what I can give you isn't enough, I'll understand it.” He gently took her hand in his under the table. “Maybe I'm being very selfish.” Zoya shook her head, as near them she saw Spencer Tracy laughing. She wondered again who the woman was and why he looked so happy.
“I'm not sure I'm ready for more than that anyway. I may never be. I loved Simon very much.”
“I know that.”
And then, in a small voice, “But I think I love you too …” It was so odd, she had never expected this, but she liked being with him. She had every Monday, and she had come to rely on him and respect him.
“I won't ask you for more than you want to give. I understand that.” She couldn't ask any more of him. He seemed to understand everything she was feeling. And then, feeling braver, he smiled gently at her. “Will you go away with me one day, when you're ready?”
She looked at him for a long time, and then slowly nodded her head. “I don't know when that will be. I'm not ready yet.” Although his kisses the night before had stirred her deeply. But she was not yet ready to be unfaithful to the memory of her husband.
“I'm not pressing you. I can wait. Maybe even for a lifetime.” They both smiled. He was so different from Simon, with his buoyant impatience and excitement about life, and Clayton with his gentle, aristocratic ways. Paul Kelly was his own man, with his own style and situation.
“Thank you, Paul.” She looked up at him gratefully, and without saying another word, he leaned over and kissed her.
“Let's have dinner whenever we can.” He looked happy and hopeful.
“Won't Allison mind?”
He looked sad for a moment. “She won't even notice.”
Zoya kissed him that time, a kiss to heal the hurt of years of loneliness. They were both lonely people now, yet their time together was always lively and happy. The decisions they made with Simon's business were important ones and she loved telling him about the store. Sometimes she made him laugh for hours, telling him about her more outrageous clients … or about little Matthew.
Paul walked her back to the store afterward, and they were both shocked to realize it was almost four o'clock, and more than ever, he didn't want to leave her.
“Can you make dinner Friday night, or shall we leave it till Monday?” He didn't press her as he looked down at her happily outside the store. She knew Sasha was going away for the weekend, and she suddenly wanted to see him before they met again in Simon's office.
“Dinner would be lovely.” Her eyes touched his with green fire and he smiled.
“I must have done something right in my life to be so lucky now.”
“Don't be silly.” She laughed and then kissed his cheek as he promised to call her. She knew he would, and she would call him too, even if only on the pretext of business.
But the roses that arrived for her that afternoon were far from businesslike. They were two dozen white roses, because she had once told him that she loved them. And she'd long since known that he seldom forgot anything. The card read, “Not stolen moments, darling Zoya, only borrowed. Thank you for the loan of you, for each precious momen
t. Love, P.” She read the card, and smiled as she put it in her handbag, and left her office again to tend to her clients. But there was no denying Paul had added something to her life. He had added something very precious, something she had almost forgotten … the touch of a hand, the look of a man who cared about her and wanted to be there for her. There was no telling now where life would lead them one day. Perhaps nowhere. But in the meantime, she knew she needed him, just as he needed Zoya. And as she went back to work, she walked with a lighter step. She didn't even feel guilty about it.
“Who did you see at lunch today?” her assistant asked curiously as they got ready to close the store. It was rare for Zoya to leave the store for lunch. But she only laughed as her eyes danced as they hadn't in months.
“Spencer Tracy,” she answered confidentially.
“Sure,” the girl smiled in answer. But she had. It was true. She had seen Spencer Tracy … and Paul Kelly.
CHAPTER
48
Paul and Zoya continued to meet every Monday afternoon in Simon's offices after that. They worked hard, and dined late, and whenever they could both get away, they went away for a quiet weekend, to walk on the beach and talk about their lives, and make love, but their friendship was always more important to them than the lovemaking. And then they went back to New York, and their real lives, and the people they belonged to. She didn't let it interfere with the rest of her life. There was too much else they both had to do. And she never deluded herself about marrying him. There was no hope of that. He was her friend, a very special one, and as they sat through board meetings year after year, they prided themselves on the fact that no one ever knew about how much they meant to each other in private, not even her children. Matthew liked him very much, and Sasha tolerated him. She was too busy with her own life now to care much about what her mother did, and she never appeared to be aware of their involvement. And of course, Nicholas was still away, fighting with the RAF in Europe.
President Roosevelt died on April 12, 1945. And three weeks later the war ended in Europe, and Zoya rejoiced as tears streamed down her cheeks. Her son was still alive. He came home on the day he turned twenty-four, and two days later, the war ended in the Pacific as well. There were endless celebrations, and parades down Fifth Avenue. Zoya closed the store, and she went home to see Nicholas, standing at the window of their living room, watching people dance in the streets, with tears running down his face.
“If Dad had only lived to see this day,” he whispered to her as he watched the jubilation in the streets, and Zoya looked up at her handsome son tenderly. He looked more than ever like Nicolai, particularly now in his uniform. He had become a man in his years away, and she wasn't surprised when he told her he wasn't going back to Princeton. He wanted to begin learning what he needed to of the empire Simon had left behind him. Paul taught him all that he needed to know of it, and Nicholas was stunned by the money that had been left to him. Sasha knew also that she would be inheriting a great deal of money the following year, although she did not yet know how much. But Nicholas was aghast when he saw the way she behaved when he stayed with Zoya briefly. She was out until the early morning hours every night, came home drunk most of the time, and was rude to everyone who tried to talk to her about what she did, particularly Nicholas, but also Zoya. He was furious when he talked to his mother about it late one night. Sasha had come in early that night, and was already passed out cold in her room. A boy in uniform had dropped her off and he was so drunk he could hardly walk as Nicholas almost threw him out.
“Can't you do something about her, Mama? She's totally out of control.”
“She's too old to spank, Nicholas, and I can't lock her in her room.”
“I'd like to try it,” he looked grim, but the next morning when he talked to his sister it was to no avail. She was gone again that night, and didn't return until well after four o'clock in the morning.
She was even more beautiful than she'd been before, she was too young for her excesses to hurt her looks, but Zoya knew that if she didn't stop, in time they would. And Zoya was less than pleased when, that December, she eloped. She had married a boy she had known for less than three weeks, and the fact that he was the son of a polo player in Palm Beach was small consolation to her. His life-style was as wild as her own, they drank and they danced and cavorted every night, and it was even more upsetting when Sasha blithely told her mother when she came to New York in March that she was expecting a baby sometime in September.
“On Matthew's birthday, I think.” She was decidedly vague as he wandered into the room. He was six and a half years old, with Simon's big brown eyes and gentle ways. He adored Nicholas, but he had learned to keep out of his sister's way long since. She drank too much, and she was either indifferent or openly unpleasant. She was twenty-one by then, and the inheritance Simon had left only hurled her faster toward her own destruction.
In June, she came home again and announced that Freddy was cheating on her, and she instantly took revenge. She bought a new car, two diamond bracelets, slept with one of his friends, in spite of her delicate state, and went back to Palm Beach to find her husband. Zoya knew that there was nothing she could do. Even Nicholas didn't want to talk about it anymore. She was what she was, and none of it was pleasant. She talked about it often with Paul, and his gentle wisdom somewhat consoled her.
Nicholas took Matthew fishing on the weekends, and to the park to play ball, whenever he could. He had his hands full at work, but he always made time for the boy, which in turn, gave Zoya a few quiet moments with Paul Kelly. They continued to conduct their affair quietly, and Nicholas never knew, which was a tribute to Paul and Zoya's discretion.
In late August, Sasha's baby was born, a tiny baby girl with bright red hair. Zoya went to Florida to see her, and stood looking at her with awe. She was so small and so sweet, and her mother seemed to have no interest in her at all. Almost as soon as the child was born, Sasha was carousing and careening everywhere in her expensive cars, with or without the equally self-indulgent Freddy. Zoya never knew where they were, and the baby was always left with a nurse, much to Zoya's disapproval. She tried to talk to Sasha about her life-style during their rare conversations on the phone, but predictably Sasha didn't want to hear it. And Nicholas never heard from her anymore either. She almost seemed to have faded from their lives, and Zoya was especially sad not to see more of Sasha's baby, Marina. And when the phone rang on Christmas Eve, Zoya found herself hoping it was Sasha. Nicholas was having dinner with her, and Matthew had just gone to bed, after decorating the tree. He was seven years old, and still believed in Santa Claus almost, although Zoya suspected it would be the last year. He was still the joy in her life, and she was smiling happily as she picked up the receiver.
“Hello?” It was the Florida State Police. Her heart stopped, instantly fearing why they'd called her. They told her that Sasha and Freddy had been in an accident on their way home from a party somewhere, and as she held her breath, her worst fears came to fruition. She set the phone down, staring at Nicholas, unable to tell him. A moment later, the baby's nurse called them, hysterical to be left alone with the baby. And Nicholas talked to her and promised to fly down in the morning to pick up the child. The nurse explained everything to him, as he looked at his mother in silent horror. She blamed herself as she cried that night, she had done all the wrong things, she insisted, and now it was too late. She had failed her, and now she was dead.“… She was so sweet when she was small …” Zoya cried. But Nicholas had other memories of Sasha. He remembered only how spoiled she had been, how selfish, and how unkind to their mother. But to Zoya it didn't seem fair. She was only twenty-one, and now she was gone, like a fleeting, brilliant flash of falling star on a dark summer night. One moment alive and then suddenly gone forever.
Nicholas flew to Florida the next day, and brought back his sister's body, and her tiny baby, Marina. It was a somber Christmas for Zoya, as she opened presents with Matthew, fighting back tears, with tr
embling hands, and wondering if there were something she could have done and had failed to do for her daughter. Perhaps if she had never worked, if things had been easier, if Clayton hadn't died … or Simon … or perhaps … the agonies were endless, as she tried to concentrate on Matthew, who seemed not to understand what had happened to his sister, he was much too calm, which frightened Zoya. But she realized that he understood too well when he turned wide brown eyes up to Zoya's and inquired quietly, “Was she drunk again, Mom?”
She was shocked as she heard Matthew's words. But he was right. She had been. And Zoya didn't deny it, as she held Sasha's baby. And late that night, Zoya sat staring down at her, as she opened her eyes and yawned sleepily. She was four months old, and all she had was Zoya now, and Matthew and Nicholas, her uncles.
“I'm too old for this,” Zoya sighed that night when Paul called, as he always did.
“No, you're not. She's better off with you than she would have been with them. She's a lucky child.” And he was a lucky man to share his life with her. The blessings in Zoya's life touched everyone around her … except for Sasha, and she accused herself again that night, knowing how totally she had failed her. But could she have done otherwise? She knew, with searing pain, that she would never have the answer. All she could do now to make up for it was love Marina as though she were her own. She put the baby's crib next to her own bed, and sat for hours looking at the baby sleeping there, her eyes closed, her skin warm, her hair silky red, like Zoya's own, and she promised to keep her safe, and do the best she could this time. And then, as a sob caught in her throat, she remembered the night Sasha and Nicholas had almost died in the fire … little Sasha had lain on the pavement, the firemen fighting to revive her from the thick smoke, and then she had stirred, and Zoya had held her sobbing, as she did now, remembering her … how could things have gone so wrong. In the end, in spite of everything, at only twenty-one, she had lost her.
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