The Scarlatti Inheritance(14)
New York it would be.
Elizabeth arranged for a temporary family residence at the Delmonico, and once settled, Elizabeth knew she had made the right decision. The children were bursting with excitement, anticipating new schools and new friends; and within a month Giovanni had purchased controlling interest in two failing, antiquated paper mills on the Hudson and was eagerly planning their joint resurrection.
The Scarlattis stayed at Delmonico’s for nearly two years. It wasn’t really necessary, for the uptown house might have been completed much sooner had Giovanni been able to give it proper attention. However, as a result of his lengthy conferences with the architects and contractors, he discovered another interest—land.
One evening while Elizabeth and Giovanni were having a late supper in their suite, Giovanni suddenly said, “Write out a check for two hundred ten thousand dollars. Put in the name East Island Real Estaters.”
“Realtors, you mean?”
“That’s right. Let me have the crackers.”
Elizabeth passed the croutons. “That’s a lot of money.”
“We got a lot of money?”
“Well, yes, we do, but two hundred and ten thousand dollars.… Is it a new plant?”
“Just give me the check, Elizabeth. I’ve got a good surprise for you.”
She stared at him. “You know I don’t question your judgment but I must insist …”
“All right, all right.” Giovanni smiled. “You don’t get a surprise. I tell you.… I’m going to be like a barone.”
“A what?”
“A barone. A conte. You can be a contessa!”
“I simply don’t understand.…”
“In Italy, a man who has a couple of fields, maybe a few pigs, he’s practically a barone. Lots of men want to be baroni. I was talking to the East Island people. They’re gonna sell me some meadows out on Long Island.”
“Giovanni, they’re worthless! They’re simply the end of nowhere!”
“Woman, use your head! Already there’s no place for the horses to stand. Tomorrow you give me the check. Don’t argue, please. Just’a smile and be the wife of a barone.”
Elizabeth Scarlatti smiled.
Although Elizabeth did not take the cards seriously—they became a private joke between her and Giovanni—they did serve a purpose when not elaborated upon. They gave an identification befitting the Scarlatti wealth. Although no one who knew them ever referred to either as conte or contessa, there were many who weren’t sure.
It was just possible.…
And one specific result—although the title did not appear on the cards—was that for the remainder of her long life Elizabeth was called madame.
Madame Elizabeth Scarlatti.
And Giovanni could no longer reach across the table and take his wife’s bowl of soup.
Two years after the purchase of the land, on July 14, 1908, Giovanni Merighi Scarlatti died. The man was burnt out. And for weeks Elizabeth numbly tried to understand. There was no one to whom she could turn. She and Giovanni had been lovers, friends, partners, and each other’s conscience. The thought of living without one another had been the only real fear in their lives.
But he was gone, and Elizabeth knew that they had not built an empire for one to see it collapse with the other’s absence.
Her first order of business was to consolidate the management of the widespread Scarlatti Industries into a single command post.
Top executives and their families were uprooted throughout the Midwest and brought to New York. Charts were prepared for Elizabeth’s approval clearly defining all levels of decisions and areas of specific responsibility. A private network of telegraphic communications was set up between the New York offices and each plant, factory, yard, and subdivision office. Elizabeth was a good general and her army was a well-trained, headstrong organization. The times were on her side, and her shrewd analysis of people took care of the rest.
A magnificent town house was built, a country estate purchased in Newport, another seaside retreat constructed in a development called Oyster Bay, and every week she held a series of exhausting meetings with the executives of her late husband’s companies.
Among her most important actions was her decision to help her children become totally identified with Protestant democracy. Her reasoning was simple. The name Scarlatti was out of place, even crude, in the circles her sons had entered and in which they would continue to live for the rest of their lives. Their names were legally altered to Scarlett.
Of course, for herself, in deep respect for Don Giovanni and in the tradition of Ferrara, she remained:
No residence was listed for it was difficult to know at which home she would be at a given time.