He stood there for what seemed like hours, staring out the window, his eyes glued to the tree, and then suddenly he saw her, like a vision, a magnificent ghost darting past the tree and then sitting quietly in the darkness, the long hair flowing in the breeze behind her, almost silver in the moonlight, the delicate profile turned up as though to sniff the night air, her eyes closed, and her body shrouded in what looked like a blanket as she stretched out her legs on the grass. He could see that her legs and feet were bare, and as he watched her he suddenly felt his whole body grow tense, as everything within him surged toward the mysterious girl. Almost as though he had no control over his actions, he turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind him, and hastily he ran down the long flight of marble stairs. He walked down the long stately hallway to a side door that he knew led into the garden, and before he could stop himself, he had walked softly across the grass until suddenly he stood there behind her, shivering in the breeze, trembling with desire and not sure of why he had come. As though she sensed him standing there, she turned and looked up at him with wide startled eyes, but she said nothing, and for a long moment he stood there and their eyes met and she waited, and silently he sat down beside her on the grass.
“Were you talking to your tree?” His voice was gentle, as he felt the warmth of her body beside his. He wasn't sure what to say to her, and it seemed foolish, but as he looked down into her face he saw now that it was shimmering with tears. “Serena? What's wrong?” For a long time she didn't answer, and then she shrugged with a little palms-up gesture and a lopsided smile. It made him want to take her in his arms, but he still didn't dare to. He wasn't sure what she would think. And he still wasn't sure what he thought himself. “What's the matter?”
She sighed then, and almost without thinking, she rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. “Sometimes …”She spoke softly in the cool darkness. “Sometimes it is very lonely … after a war.” Her eyes burned into his then. “There is no one. Not anymore.”
He nodded slowly, trying to understand her pain. “It must be very hard.” And then, unable to resist the questions that always plagued his mind, “How old are you, Serena?”
“Nineteen.” Her voice was like velvet in the darkness. And then, with a small smile, “And you?”
He smiled too. “Thirty-four.” He wasn't sure why, but he suddenly felt that she accepted him as a friend now. It was as though something different had begun to happen between them that afternoon. She shook her head from his shoulder, and he found that he missed the gentle pressure, and more than ever he found himself desperately hungry for her, as his eyes lingered over her lips and her eyes and her face. “Serena …” He wasn't sure of how to say it, or of what he wanted to tell her, but he knew that he had to say something about what he felt.
“Yes, Major?”
He laughed then. “For God's sake, don't call me that.” It reminded her of when she scolded Marcella for calling her Principessa and she laughed too.
“All right, then what do I call you? Sir?” She was teasing now, and suddenly more woman than girl.
He looked down at her for a long moment, his smile gentle, his eyes a deep sea-gray, and then he whispered, “Yeah … maybe you do call me Sir.” But before she could answer, he had taken her in his arms and kissed her, with a longing and a hunger and a passion that he didn't know he had. He felt his whole body press toward her, his arms held her close, and he never wanted to take his mouth from hers, as her lips gave in to his and their tongues probed and danced between his mouth and her own. He was almost breathless with desire when finally he peeled himself away slowly and she seemed to melt into his arms with a gentle sigh. “Oh, Serena …”Without saying more, he kissed her again, and this time it was Serena who came up for air. She shook her head slowly, as though to clear her head, and looked at him sadly in the moonlight, with fresh tears in her eyes.
“We shouldn't do this, Major … we can't.”
“Why can't we?” He wasn't sure she was wrong, but he knew that he didn't want to stop. “Serena …” He wanted to tell her that he loved her, but that was crazy. How could he love her? He barely knew her. And yet he knew that there was some extraordinary bond between him and this girl.
“Don't.” She put up a hand and he kissed the delicate fingers. “It's not right. You have your own life. This is only Rome,” she said, smiling sadly, “working its magic.” She had seen the photographs of Pattie Atherton in his bedroom and on his desk.
But the major was thinking only of Serena as he stared at the exquisite face in the moonlight and kissed her gently on the lips before pulling away to look at her again. She wasn't sure why she let him do it, but it was as though she had to, as though she had sensed from the first where it would end. But it was crazy … an American … a soldier? What would it lead to? She cringed at the thought.
“Why were you crying tonight, Serena?”
“I told you. I was lonely. I was sad.” And then, “I had been thinking about—” She didn't know how to say it. Her world was no more. “About things that are gone.”
“Like what? Tell me.” He wanted to know everything about her. Why she laughed, why she cried, whom she loved, whom she hated, and why.
“Ah …” She sighed for a moment. “How can I tell you what it was like? A lost world … another time, filled with beautiful ladies and handsome men. …” She thought suddenly of her parents and their friends, so many of them dead now, or having fled. She stopped talking for a moment as she thought of the faces that haunted her lately more and more, and the major watched her and saw her eyes grow bright with tears.
“Don't, Serena.” He pulled her into his arms and held her there as the tears rolled slowly down her face.
“I'm sorry.”
“So am I. I'm sorry that it happened to you.” And then he smiled to himself, remembering the story that she was Marcella's niece. That hardly matched up with her “lost world filled with beautiful ladies and handsome men.” He looked at the delicately carved face for a long time then, wondering who she really was and knowing that, to him, it didn't matter, and perhaps never would. She was special and lovely and he desired her more than he had ever desired anyone, even the woman to whom he was engaged. He didn't understand why that was true, but it was, and a part of him wanted to tell her that he loved her, but he knew that that was mad too. How could he love a girl he barely knew? And yet, he knew, as they sat huddled in the moonlight, that he did, and as she felt his arms around her Serena knew it too. He kissed her again then, long and hard and with passion and hunger. And without saying anything further, he stood up and pulled her up beside him, kissed her again, and then walked her slowly to her back door. He left her there, with a last kiss, and he said nothing further. There was nothing that he dared to say. And Serena stood there watching him for a long moment before she disappeared into the servants' quarters that she shared with Marcella and softly closed the door.
7
For the next few days Major B. J. Fullerton was as a man tormented, as he drifted through his duties without thinking or seeing, and Serena moved as though in a dream. She did not understand what had happened between her and the major, and she was not at all sure that she wanted it to happen again. For years now she hated wars, soldiers, uniforms, any army, and yet suddenly there she had been in the arms of the major, wanting no one else but him. And what did he want with her? She knew the answer to that question, or she thought so, and it made her bristle with anger each time she remembered the photograph by his bed of the New York debutante. He wanted to sleep with his Italian maid was what he wanted, a casual wartime story, and yet even as she bridled she remembered his touch and kisses beneath the willow tree and knew that she wanted more of him. It would have been difficult to say which of them looked the most unhappy as each struggled through their duties, observed by all, yet understood by only two. The major's orderly, Charlie Crockman, had exchanged a speaking glance with Marcella two days later, and yet the two had said nothing. The major barked at everyone, accomplished nothing, lost two folders filled with moderately important orders and then found them again as he fumed. Serena waxed the same patch of floor for almost four hours and then walked off leaving all her cloths and brushes abandoned in a central doorway, she stared right through Marcella, and went to bed without eating dinner.