“We’re a very dull group compared to him.” Sarah smiled. He had already written her half a dozen letters about the fabulous animals he’d seen. And he was already begging to go back, if she’d let him.
“He certainly doesn’t get it from me.” Julian grinned. He was far happier on a sofa than a safari.
“Or me.” Phillip laughed at himself for once, and Lorenzo immediately launched into an endless tale that bored everyone, about his dear friend the Maharaja of Jaipur.
They had a nice time at lunch, in spite of him, and afterwards they all went their separate ways, and the Whitfields all said good-bye to their mother. Julian was going to Saint-Tropez with friends for a few days to rest after all their work on the mammoth party, and Phillip and Cecily were flying back to London. Nigel was staying in Paris for a few days with his friend. Emanuelle was going back to work, as Sarah was eventually. Only Isabelle lingered after lunch. Lorenzo said he had to pick up something at Hermès, and wanted to see friends. They weren’t leaving for another day, and for the first time in years, Isabelle seemed to want to talk to her mother. She hesitated when they were finally alone, and Sarah asked her if she’d like another cup of coffee.
They both ordered espresso, and Isabelle came to sit next to her. She had been at the other end of the lively table, but there was something deeply unhappy in her eyes, and she looked at her mother miserably finally, as tears filled her eyes and she tried to fight them.
“I don’t suppose I have the right to say anything now, do I?” she asked ruefully, and Sarah gently touched her hand, wishing she could take away her pain, that she could have shielded her from it from the beginning. But she had long since learned the hard lesson that she couldn’t. “I can’t really complain, since you all warned me.”
“Yes, you can.” Sarah smiled. “One can always complain.” And then she decided to be honest. “You’re unhappy, aren’t you?”
“Very,” Isabelle admitted, wiping a tear from her cheek. “I had no idea what it would be like … I was so young and so stupid … you all knew. And I was so blind.” It was all true, but it made Sarah sad anyway. There was no consolation in being right this time. Not at her child’s expense. It broke her heart to see her so unhappy. She had tried to resign herself for years to barely seeing her anymore, but nonetheless it had always been painful. And now, seeing how unhappy she had been, her estrangement from them seemed even more wasted.
“You were very young.” Sarah excused her. “And very stubborn. And he was very shrewd.” Isabelle nodded miserably, she knew that only too well now. “He played you like a violin to get what he wanted.” He had played all of them, he had forced their hand, and enticed Isabelle to marry him. It was easy to forgive Isabelle, but not as easy to forgive Lorenzo. “He knew what he was doing.”
“More than you know. As soon as we got to Rome, and he got what he wanted, everything was different. It seemed like he already had the palazzo picked out, he said everyone had them there, everyone of any consequence, and we’d need it for all our children, and the villa in Umbria too. And then he bought the Rolls … and the yacht … and the Ferrari … and then all of a sudden I never saw him anymore. He was always out with his friends, and I started seeing things in the paper about him and other women. And every time I asked him about it, he just laughed and said they were old friends, or cousins. He must be related to half of Europe,” she said grimly, looking straight at her mother. “He’s cheated on me for years. He doesn’t even hide it anymore. He does what he wants, and he says there’s nothing I can do. There’s no divorce in Italy, and he’s related to three cardinals, he says he will never divorce me.” She looked hopeless as she sat there. Sarah had no idea that it had come to that, or that he had dared to be so blatant. And how dare he come here, and sit with all of them, come to her party, pursue her friends, after abusing her daughter. She was livid.
“Have you asked him for a divorce?” Sarah looked worried as she stroked her daughter’s hand, and Isabelle nodded.
“Two years ago, when he had a passionate affair with a well-known woman in Rome. I just couldn’t take it anymore. They were all over the papers. I just couldn’t see the point of playing the game anymore.” She started to cry openly then. “I’ve been so lonely.” Sarah hugged her then, and Isabelle blew her nose and went on with her sad tale. “I asked him again last year. But he always says no, that I must resign myself to the fact that we’re married forever.”
“He wants to be married to your bank account, not you” He always had, and according to Julian, he had been very lucky. He had stashed a lot of the money Isabelle had given him and continued to make her pay for everything. But she wouldn’t have cared about that so much if she’d loved him. But she hadn’t loved him in years. When their first passion burned away, and it had quickly, there had been absolutely nothing left, except ashes. “At least you haven’t had children with him. If you can get out of it at all, it will be less complicated this way. And you’re still young, you can have them later.”
“Not with him,” Isabelle said bleakly, lowering her voice still further as they sat at the table, and the waiters kept a discreet distance. “We can’t even have children.”
This time Sarah looked stunned. Up until then, nothing had really surprised her. “Why not?” He had even threatened that Isabelle might be pregnant when he wanted to marry her, it had been his main reason for not waiting until Christmas. And he wasn’t that old. He was fifty-four then, William had been older than that when they had Xavier, and not even in good health, Sarah thought warmly. “Is there something wrong with him?”
“He had severe mumps as a child. And he’s sterile. His uncle told me. Enzo had never told me anything. And when I asked him, he laughed. He said I was very lucky, it was built-in birth control. He lied to me, Maman … he told me we would have dozens of children.” The tears spilled over on her cheeks again and again. “I think I could even stand being married to him, no matter how much I hated him, if we had children.” There was a longing in her heart that nothing would fill now. For five long years she had had no one to love, and no one to love her. Not even her family, whom he had caused her to fight with.
“That’s no way to have children, dear,” Sarah said quietly. “You don’t want them to grow up in misery.” But she didn’t want her own daughter living in it either.
“We don’t sleep with each other anymore anyway. We haven’t in three years. He never comes home anymore except to pick up his shirts, or get money.” But something Isabelle had said had caught Sarah’s attention, and she made a mental note of it for later. The Principe di San Tebaldi was not quite as slick as he thought, but almost. “I don’t care anymore,” Isabelle went on. “I don’t care about anything. It’s like being in prison.” And she looked it. In the daylight, Sarah saw that Emanuelle had been right when she went to Rome, and now she knew why. Isabelle looked wan and pale, and desperately unhappy, and with good reason.
“Do you want to come home? You could probably get a divorce here. You were married at the château.”
“We married again in Italy,” Isabelle said hopelessly. “In the church. If I got a divorce here, it wouldn’t be legal in Italy, and I could never get married again anyway. It would be illegal. Lorenzo says I just have to resign myself to my fate. He’s not going anywhere.” Once again, as he had before, he really had them over a barrel, and Sarah didn’t like it. It was worse than her first marriage had been, by far, or certainly similar to it. And her father had gotten her out of it. She knew she had to find a way now to help her daughter.
“What can I do to help you? What do you want, my darling?” Sarah asked sadly, “I’ll speak to my attorneys at once, but I think you may have to bide your time with him. Eventually there will be something he wants more than you, and maybe we can bargain with him.” But she had to admit, it wouldn’t be easy. He was a tough one.