“My husband's grandfather,” she explained as Serena felt his eyes on her and glanced toward the painting. “He is responsible for almost everything that your husband has.” She spoke pointedly, as though Serena would understand her, and to the young Italian girl standing before her, it seemed a very odd thing to say. “Please sit down.” Serena did as she was told, and sat very primly on the edge of a small Queen Anne chair, in the black velvet dress she had chosen for dinner. It had a low square neckline and broad straps, a slim skirt, and over it she wore a short white satin jacket. It was a suit that Brad had bought her just before they left Paris, and Serena knew that she wouldn't be able to wear it for much longer. Her ever growing waistline would soon refuse to be restricted by the small waist of the dress. But for tonight it was perfect, and she wore it with pearl earrings and her pearl necklace, and she looked very grown-up and very pretty as Margaret Fullerton looked her over again. Even she had to admit that the girl was pretty, but that wasn't the point. The fact was that if she didn't go back to Europe she was going to destroy Brad's life. “Would you care for a drink?” Serena shook her head quickly. The baby had made it impossible, in recent weeks, to even so much as sniff wine.

While Margaret poured herself a drink, Serena studied her. She was an amazingly distinguished-looking woman, and tonight she wore a rich sapphire-colored silk dress, set off by a handsome necklace of sapphires and diamonds, which her husband had bought her at Cartier's in Paris after the first world war. Serena's eyes were held for a long moment by the necklace, and then her glance shifted to the enormous sapphire earrings, and the matching bracelet on her arm. With an assumption of understanding, Margaret Fullerton nodded and decided that it was time to make her move. “Serena, I'm going to be very candid with you. I don't think that there's any reason for us to mince words. I understand from—from friends”—Margaret Fullerton hesitated for only a moment—”that you met Brad while you were working for him in Rome. Am I correct?”

“Yes, I—I got the job when I came back to Rome.”

“That must have been a fortunate circumstance for you.”

“At the time it was. I had no one left in Rome, except”—she struggled for a way to explain Marcella—”an old friend.”

“I see. Then the job at the palazzo must have been a godsend.” She smiled, but her eyes were frighteningly cold.

“It was. And so was your son.”

Margaret Fullerton almost visibly flinched, as the young woman sat very straight in her chair, the pretty ivory face framed by the collar of the white satin jacket, her eyes bright, her hair brushed until it shone. It was difficult to find fault with Serena, but Margaret was not to be fooled by appearances. She already knew exactly what she thought of this girl. She went on now with a look of determination.

“That was exactly the impression I had, Serena. That you needed Brad's help, and he came to your rescue, perhaps in getting you out of Italy. All of which is quite admirable of him, and perhaps even very romantic. But I think that getting married may have been carrying things more than a little bit too far, don't you?” For an instant Serena didn't know what to say, and whatever came to mind, Margaret did not give her the chance to say it. “We all know that men sometimes get involved in unusual situations during wartime, but”—her eyes blazed for a moment as she set down her glass—”it was mad of him to bring you home.”

“I see.” Serena seemed to shrink visibly in her chair. “I thought that perhaps … when we met—”

“What did you think? That I'd be fooled? Hardly. You're a very pretty girl, Serena. We both know that. But all that nonsense about being a princess is precisely that. You were a charwoman working for the American army, and you latched onto a good thing. The only unfortunate thing is that you weren't smart enough to know when to let go.” For an instant Serena looked as though she had been slapped. There were tears in her eyes as she sat back in her chair, and Margaret Fullerton stood up and went to her desk. She returned a moment later with a small folder, sat down again on the small couch, and looked at Serena squarely. “I'm going to be frank with you. If what you wanted was to get out of Italy, you've done that. If you want to stay in the States, I'll see to it that that is arranged. You can settle yourself anywhere in this country, except of course where Brad lives, which means neither San Francisco, nor here. If you want to go back to Europe, I will arrange for immediate passage back. In either case, after you sign these papers, annulment proceedings will be initiated by his father's law firm at once, and you will be rewarded handsomely for your trouble.” Margaret Fullerton looked matter-of-fact and not the least bit embarrassed by what she had just said to Serena.

But Serena seemed to be sitting even straighter in her chair, and the emeralds in her eyes had suddenly caught fire. “I'll be rewarded?”

“Yes.” Margaret looked pleased. She was obviously on the right track. “Quite handsomely. Brad's father and I discussed it again last night. Of course you must understand that once you sign these papers you will have no right whatsoever to attempt to sue for more. You'll have to take what you get, and leave it at that.”

“Of course.” Serena's eyes blazed, but now she too sounded matter-of-fact. “And for precisely what price are you buying your son back?”

For an instant Margaret Fullerton looked annoyed. “I don't think I like your choice of expression.”

“But isn't that what you're doing, Mrs. Fullerton? Buying him back from an Italian whore? Isn't that how you view it?”

“How I view it is entirely immaterial. What you have done, snagging my son as you did while he was overseas, is liable to affect his entire future, and his career. What he needs is an American wife, someone of his own class, his own world, who can help him.”

“And I could never do that?”

Margaret Fullerton laughed and spread her hands in the small elegant den. “Look around you. Is this your world? The world you come from? Or is this only what you wanted? What exactly did you plan to give him, other than that pretty face and your body? Have you anything to give him? Position, connections, resources, friends? Don't you understand that he could have a career in politics? But not married to an Italian charwoman, my dear. How can you live with what you have done to his career … his life?” The tears stood out once again in Serena's eyes and her voice was husky when she answered.

“No, I have nothing to give him, Mrs. Fullerton. Except my heart.” But she answered none of the other questions. It was none of the woman's business what she came from. In truth, she came from something far grander than this, but who could explain that now? It was all over. Gone.

“Precisely.” Margaret went on. “You have nothing. And to be blunt, you are nothing. But I suspect that you want something. And I have what you want.” Do you, you bitch? Serena silently raged.… Do you have love … and patience and understanding and goodness and a lifetime to give me? Because that's what I want to give him. But she said nothing.

Without saying another word, Margaret Fullerton opened the folder she had brought from her desk, and handed a check to Serena. It was made out in the amount of twenty-five thousand dollars. “Why don't you have a look at that?” Out of curiosity Serena took it from her, and glanced at the numbers in disbelief.

“You would give me that to leave him?”

“I would and I am. In fact we can have this business over with in a matter of minutes, if you will simply sign here.” She pushed a single typewritten document toward Serena, who stared at it in amazement. It said that she agreed to divorce Bradford Jarvis Fullerton III, or obtain an annulment, as soon as possible, that she would either leave the country or reside in another city, and would never, at any time, discuss any of this with the press. She would fade out of Brad's life immediately, in exchange for which she was to be paid the sum of twenty-five thousand dollars. Furthermore, the paper went on, she swore that at this moment in time she was not pregnant and would attempt to make no future claim on Brad for paternity of any child she subsequently had. When she saw that, a smile broke out on her face and a moment later she began to laugh. They had thought of everything, those bastards, but suddenly now it seemed funny.

“Apparently you find something amusing here?”

“I do, Mrs. Fullerton.” There was still a green blaze in Serena's eyes, but now she felt mistress of the situation at last.

“May I ask what amused you? This document was very carefully prepared.” She looked furious at Serena's reaction, but she didn't dare let the girl know.

“Mrs. Fullerton.” Serena smiled at her sweetly and stood up. “Brad and I are having a baby.”

“You're what?”

“I'm pregnant.”

“And when did that happen?”

“Two months ago.” Serena looked at her proudly. “The baby is due in December.”

“That certainly adds a new dimension to your schemes, doesn't it?” The older woman was almost overwhelmed by fury.

“You know”—Serena looked at her, with one hand on the door —”you may find it very hard to believe, but I have no schemes about Brad, and I never have, right from the first. I know that you think I am a poverty-stricken little tramp from Rome, but you're only partly right. I have no money. That is all. But my family was quite as illustrious as yours.” Her eyes strayed to the portrait on the wall. “My grandfather looked not unlike that man. Our house” —she smiled at the older woman—”was far grander than this one. In fact all three of our houses were. But the important thing, Mrs. Fullerton, is that I want nothing from your son. Except his love and our baby. The rest I don't want, not his money or your money or his father's money, or that check for twenty-five thousand dollars. I will never take anything from any of you except,” she spoke very softly, “my husband's love.” And with that, she slipped quietly out of the room and closed the door, as Margaret Fullerton stared at it with sheer fury, and an instant later anyone passing her boudoir would have heard the shattering of breaking glass. She had thrown her glass of sherry at the fireplace. But as far as she was concerned the battle wasn't over. Before Brad left New York for San Francisco, she would see to it that Serena was gone, baby or no baby. And she had two weeks in which to do it. And she knew she would.