Gramercy Park. Paula Cohen

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       Chapter Eight

      THE NEWS OF CLARA ADLER’S imminent removal from Gramercy Park will cause hardly a ripple among those members of New York society who had followed the course of her illness with such devotion. For one thing, anyone capable of doing so has abandoned the city for summer quarters, leaving only a handful of the elect behind to marvel at the idea of Chadwick—who loathes domestic encumbrance in every form, and enjoys no one’s company so much as his own—suddenly assuming familial responsibility in the form of a ward.

      For another, the girl herself, since being reduced to the status of a penniless dependent, has ceased to be of any interest other than as a lingering oddity, and has come to be viewed in the same light as any other exotic creature housed by a wealthy owner to prove his eclecticism and the depth of his purse. One may expatiate upon a potential heiress at great length and in vast detail; one does not, however, spend any time at all discussing a pet monkey or a tame peacock unless the beast has done something untoward, such as savaging one of the servants; and unless Miss Adler turns upon Chadwick’s household in a similar fashion (the chances of which seem relatively improbable), the public’s fascination with her is not likely to be rekindled any time soon.

      Outside of Clara herself, then, there are only three persons in the world to whom it matters that she is soon to disappear beneath Chadwick’s roof: Daniel Buchan, who, despite his expectation of just such an outcome, finds Chadwick’s intransigence galling in the extreme; Stafford Dyckman, who is concerned because Alfieri is, and also because his chivalrous young soul is roused at the rather romantic notion of a maiden in distress; and Mario Alfieri himself.

      But the problem is more simple and direct for Alfieri than it is for either Buchan or Dyckman. Her loneliness calls to him, stirring something that has lain silent for years.

      There had been a young woman, once, about Clara’s age. How long ago? Before the world changed, before he had become “the nightingale.” Her eyes had not been trusting—she had known too many beds before coming to his, and too much betrayal—but she had clung to him the same way, out of need, and he had loved her …

      He is young no longer and the world has changed, and Clara is young enough be his child; he has met her only twice. But when she clings to his hands the old years are come again, and all the lost joy with them, and he is a better man, a gentler man … a kinder, more worthy man … and the thought of losing her is like Lazarus, dying a second time; he will not be raised from the dead again. God has given him his last chance.

      The knowledge, therefore, that she will soon be beyond his reach—for there is not the faintest breath of hope that Chadwick will allow him to call upon her—has him staring into nothingness for most of the night after Buchan tells him the news, restlessly pacing from room to room, and rising early the next morning. Three o’clock is the appointed time for his return to Gramercy Park, and the hours between are all but unendurable.

      The precious sophisticates of his world, the ones who know too much and care too little, how they would laugh at him! He has slept badly, and awakened in a jangle of raw nerves—he who can nightly face the close attention of a thousand pairs of eyes and ears with as little anxiety as another feels crossing the street—because of a young woman who does not know who he is, but says “I like you very much” with her heart in her eyes.

      He fills the empty time by walking, even though the day is wet, first to St. Stephen’s for Mass, then to Stafford Dyckman’s club for an hour or two of absentminded conversation and a luncheon remarkable chiefly for the level of Alfieri’s distraction. Shortly before three o’clock, he bids Dyckman an impatient farewell and walks through a misty spring rain to Gramercy Park.

      She is in her own sitting room today, curled into a corner of the sofa. Of the improvement Chadwick had seen in her appearance yesterday, nothing at all remains. Her head comes up blindly at the sound of Alfieri’s knock and the opening door, her eyes so swollen that he doubts she can see him at all, until she stretches out her hands to him. He is at her side in another moment, her cold fingers covered by his warm hands.

      “Are you ill, little girl?” He says it into her hair because she has buried her face in his shoulder to hide her red and aching eyes.

      “I thought you wouldn’t come back.”

      “I promised you I would.”

      “He said I would never see you again.” Her voice is muffled against him.

      “Who told you this?”

      “Mr. Chadwick.”

      “Madonna, it will take much more than Mr. Chadwick to keep me from you.”

      “He told me …”

      “What did he tell you?” he says with great gentleness, and waits to hear what he already knows: that she is soon to be living in the lawyer’s house.

      “He told me who you are,” she whispers.

      A chasm opens up beneath Alfieri’s feet. “Ah, did he?” he says, closing his eyes in sudden pain.

      “I am sorry I didn’t know. I am very stupid.” Her voice trembles. “Don’t be angry with me.”

      “Bambina, is that what you think? That I would be angry because you did not know who I am?”

      “I meant no offense.”

      “And I took none. Is that why you cried, and made your lovely eyes all red?” He rests his lips against her hair, breathing in its fragrance. “Listen, dear heart, I am not angry with you. I was happy that you did not know.”

      “Why?”

      “The reason is not important now. Someday I will explain.” He takes her by the shoulders and holds her away from him. “Did Mr. Chadwick tell you nothing else?”

      She droops beneath his hands, and her bowed head touches his shoulder again. “I must go with him.”

      “Cara, tell me … do you want to?”

      “No.” Close as he is, he must strain to hear her. “He frightens me.”

      “Grazie a Dio,” he whispers. “That is all I needed to know.”

      “He told me what you tried to do,” СКАЧАТЬ