The American Lady(37)

Franco went toward the woman as though sleepwalking.

Her cheeks were flushed, as though she had just woken from a long, restful sleep. Tears gleamed in her eyes.

How vulnerable she looked!

The crowd was still roaring their praise, but their shouts were nothing more than a gentle humming in Franco’s ears.

She didn’t notice him at first, since she was gesticulating wildly to where the poet stood. Then she took a step to one side—and trod on his foot.

“Oh my goodness!” She giggled and turned around. “I beg your pardon. I didn’t mean to . . .”

Her eyelids fluttered nervously as their eyes met. She put her hand to her mouth, startled, almost frightened.

Their faces were just a handsbreadth apart. She was even more beautiful from close up. Not as young as Franco had thought at first, but her eyes were deeper than a mountain lake.

She still had her hand in front of her mouth, and her eyes were wide with surprise.

Franco reached for her hand and lifted it to his mouth. He kissed her little finger, then the next, then the next. He did not let her hand go until he had kissed every finger and then the palm.

“No need to apologize,” he said, and he meant every word.





10

“Why can’t you understand, darling, that it’s just not meant to happen?” Ruth said, frowning as she looked up from her notepaper. “There’s simply no work to be had in the summer months, everybody knows that. You won’t change anything by wearing out the soles of your boots looking.”

Wanda watched as Ruth shuffled name cards around on a large sheet of paper, trying new seating arrangements for a dinner party.

“And what will change when the fall comes? The weather’s not to blame for the fact that I go from one disappointment to the next!”

Wanda had tried to look busy all morning, but in the end she had given up and joined her mother in the dining room. Marie was off goodness knows where, Harold was at the bank, and she didn’t feel like going shopping—what else was left for her to do?

Ruth seemed happy with the way the names were placed on her sheet of paper. She smiled at her daughter. “Why not help me a little with planning the dinner party for Marie? I’m sure she’d be glad to know you had a hand in it.”

Wanda made a face. “Oh, mother, we both know that nobody can plan these things as well as you do! I’m sure you’ve put down everything in those lists of yours already, from the table linens to the music.”

She was pleased to see Ruth blush slightly. Her mother was feeling so sorry for her that she was even ready to let her play at helping out. It had gotten that bad.

“Besides, Marie doesn’t much seem to care what we do this past week or so,” she added cattily.

Ruth pursed her lips. “You’re right there, unfortunately. Ever since she met that Italian count we can think ourselves lucky to see her at all.”

“Ha! She’ll end up not coming to her own party, just because Franco can’t be there—perhaps you should put that into your seating chart as well,” Wanda went on. She was enjoying this. Her mother had been most put out when Marie’s new admirer had dared to turn down an invitation from the uncrowned queen of the New York dinner-party circuit.

Ruth’s eyebrows shot up. “I invite a complete stranger to one of my parties—bending my rules for Marie’s sake—and what thanks do I get?”

Wanda heaved a sigh of sympathy. “A man whose name doesn’t appear on the A-list and who nobody seems to know the first thing about.”

“You are quite right, my dear. This Franco could have spent an evening with the best people in town. But if his business affairs are that much more important, so be it!”

Wanda was grinning inside. Mother never even noticed when she was being teased about her snobbery. She decided to lay it on even thicker.

“Maybe he’s not a nobleman at all, just a con man, and he’s not coming to dinner because he’s afraid he’ll be found out.”

“Please, Wanda! Don’t make me worry more than I already am!” Ruth said. “The fact that none of our friends know any Count de Lucca doesn’t mean anything in itself—we don’t have very many Italians among our sort, after all. But I’ll tell you one thing: I’m going to meet this Franco face-to-face one day. You see if I don’t! He won’t be able to plead important business every time we invite him, will he now?”

Just as Wanda was beginning to get bored by the whole conversation, her mother waved her to come closer. “Don’t you ever breathe a word of what I’m about to tell you to anyone else,” she said theatrically.