Eventually Serena was dressed in a gray skirt and gray sweater, once again wearing her single strand of pearls. As he emerged from the bathroom Brad noticed that it was a very sober outfit.
“What happened to the white dress?” He had liked that, it made her waist look so tiny, and she looked lovely in white. The gray looked strangely sad for such a happy day. But it was the best skirt she owned, and the sweater was cashmere, a rarity for her too. She owned almost no clothes, except what she had brought from the convent, and what she had worked in at the palazzo. She knew she would have to buy more now that she was his wife, and she was planning to spend some of what was left of her money on that too. She didn't want to disgrace him with the ugly hand-me-downs that were mostly all that she had.
“Don't worry. I'll buy some new things.” She looked embarrassed then. “Is this … is it very ugly?” She glanced in the mirror and realized how drab it seemed. It was a far cry from the white dress, and the borrowed sable, but this was all she had. She blushed faintly and he went to her and took her in his arms again.
“I'd love you wrapped in a blanket, you big silly. Nothing you ever wear looks ugly. You just looked pretty in the white … and the sable. Why don't we take you shopping this afternoon, and get you some pretty new things? My Christmas present to you.”
Before she could protest, as he knew she would, he put an arm around her shoulders, and went downstairs with her, where they sat down to a sumptuous lunch. Marie-Rose had outdone herself on their behalf. There was a delicately seasoned homemade cream of vegetable soup, a tasty pâté with freshly baked bread, wonderful little roast squabs, and a puree of artichoke hearts, which B.J. especially loved. There was salad, and Brie and pears, which Marie-Rose had been hoarding for days in honor of this luncheon, and for dessert she had made a chocolate soufflé with vanilla sauce and whipped cream.
“Good God, I don't think I'll ever be able to move again.” Serena stared at him almost in amazement. “I've never eaten that much in my life.”
“God, it was wonderful.” B.J. looked glazed as he looked up at Pierre, who offered him now a small brandy and a cigar. B.J. refused them both with regret.
And after Pierre had left them, B.J stood up and stretched in the warm winter sunshine streaming through the long French windows, and then he went to Serena and rubbed her shoulders gently with his strong hands, as she dropped her head back and looked up at him “Hello, my love Are you as happy as I am?”
“Much more so And fatter. God, after that lunch, I may never fit into my uniforms again “
“It's a good thing I wasn't wearing Marcella's white dress, I would have exploded and blown the dress to smithereens.” He laughed at the vision and pulled her chair back for her, as she stood up slowly and stretched too “I don't even feel like shopping, but I really have to.”
“First”—he glanced at his watch—”we have to call my parents It may take a while to get through, but it's important. I want to introduce them to my wife.” He kissed her then and walked her into the library where he picked up the phone on the desk, dialed the operator, and began, in halting French, to give her the number he wanted in New York
“Do you want me to do that for you?” She whispered it to him and he whispered back.
“It makes me feel competent to make myself understood in French” But he knew that his French was barely tolerable and Serena's was fluent, but nonetheless he managed, and a moment later, having given the operator all the information, he hung up
Pierre had started a fire in the fireplace before lunch and now it was blazing along at a good clip B.J went to sit in front of it and beckoned to Serena, who came to sit beside him and hold his hand. She looked worried though as she came to him, and he gently stroked her hair, as though hoping that that would calm her worries.
“Do you think they'll be very angry, Brad?”
“No. Surprised maybe.” He was staring into the fire as he spoke. At that precise moment he was thinking of his mother.
“But you said you told them we were going to get married.”
“I know I did” He turned to her then, with a quiet look in his eyes, as though he were not afraid and were very sure of what he was doing. It was in moments like that that she became aware of his strength again, and his self-confidence. Brad always seemed perfectly sure about what he was doing. It was a quality that had brought him far in his work, and that had served him well all his life. When he had gone to Princeton, he had been the captain of the football team, and he had managed that with the same quiet assurance. It had made everyone respect his word instantly, both on the team and off, and despite her worries, it made Serena feel calmer now. Just the tone of his voice was reassuring, even if she didn't quite understand what he just said. “I know I told you that I told them, Serena. But I didn't. There was no reason to. It was my decision, our decision. I wanted to wait until we were married.”
“But why?” She was shocked that he had felt the need to lie to her the day before.
He sighed deeply and looked into the fire, and then back at her. “Because my mother is a very strong woman, Serena. She likes to have her way, and sometimes she thinks she knows what's best for us. But she doesn't always. If she could, she'd like to make our choices for us. I've never let her. My father always has. And she's made some damn good choices for him. But not for me, Serena, not for me.” He looked as though he were thinking back over his whole life as he spoke to her. “I thought that maybe if I called her first, she'd try to put her two cents in, want to fly over and meet you first, God knows what. She'd probably tell me I was robbing the cradle. Above all, I didn't want to get you upset. You've been through enough, and I want to make things easy for you, Serena, not harder. There was no point having her come over here to look you over, tell me you were terrific, and scare you to death in the bargain. So I thought we'd get our life all squared away by ourselves, and then tell her when it was a fait accompli.” He waited a moment and then, “Do you forgive me?”
“I suppose so.” He made sense, but the worry had not quite left her eyes. “But what if that makes her so angry, she dislikes me?”
“She couldn't, darling. How could she dislike you? She'd have to be crazy. And my mother is a lot of things, but not that.” And then, as though on cue, the phone rang, and it was the French operator, announcing to him that she had his transatlantic call for him. At the other end was a nasal-sounding operator in New York who was just about to get his call on the line. He heard the phone ring three times, and then it was answered by B.J.'s youngest brother. He accepted the call and roared into the phone over the static.
“How the hell are you, old boy? And Christ, how is Paris? I sure wish I were there!”
“Never mind that. How's school?”
“Same as ever. Dull as hell. But I'm almost out, thank God, and I got accepted at Stanford Med School for September.” He sounded like an excited schoolboy and B.J. grinned.
“That's terrific, kid. Hey, listen, is Mom around?” He seldom asked for his father. His father had been the invisible man for thirty years. In some ways their father had a lot in common with their middle brother. Mr. Fullerton was somewhat more enterprising than Greg, after all for one term he had been in the Senate, but he had coasted more on family prestige, good connections, and lots of campaign money than on any personal charisma of his own. In truth, it was Margaret Fullerton who should have been in politics. B.J. used to tease her that she should have been the first woman president. She would have too, if she could have got away with it. But she had settled for pushing her husband, being in the circles that such people as Eleanor Roosevelt were in.
“Yeah, she's here. You okay, Brad?”
“Just great. All of you? Greg? Dad?”
“Greg got his discharge a few weeks ago.” But it was no great shakes, as they all knew. He had served out the entire war at a desk in Fort Dix, New Jersey, spending weekends at home, or in Southampton in the summer. He had felt desperately guilty about it, as he had finally told his younger brother. But because B.J. had been so quick to get himself sent overseas and had several times had assignments in dangerous zones, their parents had been able to pull strings so that only one of their children was jeopardized. Greg had been safe in New Jersey at all times. And Teddy of course had been in college since 1941, with every intention of joining the army when he got out.