Yes. But we're going on an adventure. It's a secret. Just you and I.

He stared at her with interest, eyes widening. Can I take my bear?

She nodded, smiling, hoping he couldn't hear the rapid trip-hammer of her heart. I packed some of your toys and your games in a suitcase. Come on, sweetheart. Get up. He sat up sleepily, rubbing his eyes, and she swung him up into her arms. I'll carry you. She walked softly to the doorway, locked the door behind them, and hurried to her room, whispering to him that they mustn't talk, then sat him on her bed, removing his sleepers and dressing him in warm clothes.

Where are we going? He held out a foot as she put on his sock.

It's a surprise.

To Africa? He looked delighted. On with the other sock. A blue T-shirt, blue corduroy overalls. A red sweater. His shoes. To Africa, Mamma?

No, silly. Some place better than that.

I'm hungry. I want a gla.s.s of milk.

Uncle Bernardo will have milk and cookies for you in the car.

Is he coming too? Alessandro looked intrigued.

Only part of the way. The only people going all the way on our adventure are you and I.

Not Mamma Teresa? He pulled away from her, and Isabella stopped. She looked him in the eye and slowly shook her head.

No, darling, she can't come with us. We can't even say good-bye.

Won't she be very mad at us and hate us when we come back?

No. She'll understand. At least she hoped so.

Okay. He sat down on the bed again, picking up his teddy bear with one hand. I like going places better with you anyway. They were whispering, and Isabella smiled.

I like going places with you too. Now are we ready? She looked around. Everything was put away or packed. Only his sleepers lay forlornly on her bed. On her desk was a note explaining to Mamma Teresa and the housekeeper that Mr. Franco had decided it would be wiser for her and the child to go out of town. They could contact Mr. Franco immediately with any problems in the house. They were not to report her disappearance or speak to the press. Oh, we almost forgot something. She smiled at him as he stifled a yawn. Got your teddy bear? He picked up the bear as she helped him into his coat. All ready? He nodded again and took a firm grip of her hand. Suddenly, at the door, she stiffened. She could hear the grinding of the electric gates, a slow churning of gravel, and then the hushed voices of Bernardo and the two men. A moment later there was a soft knock.

Isabella, it's me. It was Bernardo. Alessandro let out a giggle.

This is fun.

She opened the door to him and saw one of the guards at his side. Are you ready?

She nodded, looking at him, her eyes very wide.

I'll carry Alessandro. Giovanni will take the bags. This is it?

That's everything.

Fine. They were speaking in whispers. She turned off the light. The headlights of the Fiat cast a shadowed glow in the hall. Silently he picked up Alessandro as the other man took the bags. Isabella was last. She closed the door. It was over. Her good-byes had been said. She was leaving her home.

Bernardo took the wheel with one of the guards next to him. The other sat next to Isabella and Alessandro in the backseat. She glanced over her shoulder once as they pulled away. The house looked as it always had. But it was only a house now. An empty house.

Chapter ELEVEN.

Va b+?ne? Isabella glanced over at Bernardo. They had been driving for hours, racing through the night. Aren't you tired?

He shook his head. He was too nervous to think of his own weariness. The sun would be up in an hour, and he wanted to cross the border before daybreak. For the first time he regretted taking his Fiat and longed for Amadeo's Ferrari. As it was, he had been going ninety-five miles an hour, but he could have used some extra speed now. In normal hours the customs men might connect the name on her pa.s.sport with her face and call the newspapers.

How much longer? Isabella said.

Another hour. Maybe two. The guard said nothing. Alessandro was sound asleep on her lap. Bernardo had pa.s.sed him some milk and the cookies; he had munched them happily, had two sips of milk, and pa.s.sed out.

It was almost sun-up when Bernardo finally ground to a halt. Two customs booths sat stolidly on either side of the border. One Italian, the other French. They inched to the gate on the Italian side and honked.

Buon giorno. Bernardo looked pleasantly at the uniformed guard and handed him five pa.s.sports. The man in uniform stared disinterestedly at the car. He held the pa.s.sports in his hand and then motioned to Bernardo to open the trunk. He hopped out of the car, unlocked it, revealing Isabella's four bags, two filled with papers, the other two with clothes.

Just your belongings? Bernardo nodded. You're going to France?

Yes.

For how long?

A couple of days.

The official nodded, still holding the pa.s.sports in one hand. He began to open the first one, which belonged to one of the guards, as Bernardo prayed fervently that he wasn't a man who was abreast of the news. The name of San Gregorio was more familiar now than it had ever been. But they were both startled by a sudden honking as two trucks pulled up right behind the car. The customs man made an impatient gesture, and the first truck driver used an arm and a fist to express something crude. With that the officer slapped shut the pa.s.sport, shoved them all at Bernardo, and waved them back into his car. +ecco. Have a good trip. He marched off toward the truck driver with a look of repressed fury. Gratefully Bernardo started the car.

What happened? What did he say? Isabella was looking at him anxiously from the backseat. He smiled. He said have a good trip.

Did he say anything about my pa.s.sport?

Nope. That jerk behind us did us a big favor. I'm so happy, I'd give him a kiss. The two guards smiled in spite of themselves as they rolled quietly across the border and once again stopped. He made a rude gesture at the customs guy, and he lost interest in us, Bernardo explained.

Now what? Isabella looked nervously at the man walking toward them in dark blue.

The French customs man stamps our pa.s.sports, and we're off. Bernardo rolled down the window and once again smiled.

Bonjour, messieurs, madame. He smiled benignly at them, glanced appreciatively at Isabella and briefly at the child. Isabella found herself staring at the red trim on his uniform and wishing herself miles away. A holiday? Or business?

A little of both. There was no other way to explain the two suitcases crammed with papers, in case they were inspected. My sister, our cousins, and my nephew. Family business.

I see.

He took the pa.s.sports from Bernardo. Isabella held Alessandro very tight.

You will be staying long in France?

Only a few days. It didn't matter what he told him; they would all be returning by different ways and Isabella and Alessandro not at all.

Anything in the trunk? Food? Plants? Seeds? Potatoes?

Oh, Christ. No, only our luggage. Bernardo made to step out but the guard waved his hand.

Not necessary. Merci. He went to the window, picked up his stamp, flicked through the pa.s.sports, and endorsed their entry, without even looking at the names. Bon voyage. He waved them on as the gate opened, and Isabella smiled at Bernardo with tears in her eyes.

How's your ulcer?

Alive and kicking.

So is mine. They both laughed then as Bernardo stepped hard on the accelerator.

They were in Nice by mid-morning, and Alessandro had just begun to stir. His mother, like the others, had not slept all night.

Is this Africa? Are we here yet? He sat up with a broad sleepy smile.

We're here, darling. But this isn't Africa. It's France.

Is that where we're going? He looked disappointed. He'd been to France before, several times.

Want some more cookies? Bernardo glanced at him as they sped on.

I'm not hungry.

Neither am I. Isabella was quick to second his sentiments, but ten miles from the airport Bernardo stopped at a small stand. He bought them fruit and then stopped and bought four cups of coffee and a container of milk.

Breakfast, everyone!

The coffee did wonders for all of them. Isabella combed her hair and freshened her makeup. Only the men looked as though they'd spent the night driving, with tired eyes and dark beards.

Now where are we going? Alessandro was wearing a white mustache of milk, which he wiped with the teddy bear's arm.

To the airport. I'm going to put you and your Mommy on a plane.

Oh, goodie! Alessandro clapped his hands with glee as Isabella watched him. It was extraordinary, not a murmur, not a regret, not a tremor or a good-bye. He had accepted their departure and their adventure like something they'd been planning for weeks. Even Bernardo was a little startled. And still more so as they said good-bye at the airport.

Take good care of your Mamma! I'll talk to you soon on the phone. He looked at the child tenderly, praying that he wouldn't cry. But Alessandro looked him over disapprovingly.

They don't have phones in Africa, silly.

Is that where you and your Mamma are going?

We are.

Bernardo ruffled the boy's hair gently and watched nervously as pa.s.sengers hurried toward the plane. Ciao, Isabella. Please ' take care.

I will. You too. I'll talk to you as soon as we get there.

He nodded and then took her quickly into his arms. Addio. He held her longer than he should have, feeling a lump in his throat.

But she only held him tightly and looked at him soberly at last. Until soon, Bernardo. She held him fiercely again for one last moment, and then with the guards walking on either side of her and the child in her arms, the long swirl of mink coat disappeared. He hadn't wanted her to wear that. Just something simple and black, one of her wool coats, but she had insisted that she might need it in New York. Isabellezza. He felt something terrible tremble within him. What if he had lost her forever? But he didn't let himself think of it further as he slowly wiped a tear away and walked out of the airport whispering, Good-bye. She still had a long journey ahead of her, and he wanted to be back in Rome by that night.

Chapter TWELVE.

The new bodyguards were waiting as Isabella stepped into the lounge at Heathrow Airport, holding Alessandro in her arms. She felt her heart leap as she watched them move toward her. They were tall, dark, and had the wholesome look of American football players.

Mrs. Walker? They were referring to Natasha and the pa.s.sword she and Natasha had agreed on.

Yes. She stared at them for a moment, not knowing what to say, but the taller of them handed her a letter, written in Natasha's hand. She opened it hastily, read what it said, and put it down: You're almost home, spaghetti face. Kiss your little clown for me and relax.

Love, N.

Thank you. What do we do now? They pulled out their tickets and handed hers to her. They had been instructed not to say anything in front of Isabella's men. She opened the envelope and glanced at the time. She'd have to dismiss her two men now. She turned to them, spoke to them quickly in Italian, and they rose and shook her hand. They wished her good luck, hoped she would return quickly, and then they surprised her by stooping quickly to kiss Alessandro. Tears sprang to her eyes again as they left her. She had just lost the last reminder of home. They had been in and out of the house for so many months now, it was odd to think that now they too would be gone. Like Alessandro, she was getting tired. It had been a long, draining night, and a nervous morning, wondering if she would find and recognize Natasha's men and what would happen if somehow she did not.

We'd better go now. The first man took her arm, and she found herself being propelled toward the gate, with Alessandro still in her arms.

As they boarded the plane she found herself waiting for something ghastly to happen a bomb scare, an explosion, someone trying to grab Alessandro ' anything. It was like living in a nightmare; she had never felt so far from home. But the plane took off uneventfully, and at last they were in the air.

Where are we going, Mamma? Alessandro looked at her tiredly now, the wide brown eyes a little confused.

To Aunt Natasha, darling. In New York. She kissed him gently on the forehead, and with his hand in hers they both fell asleep.

She woke four hours later, when Alessandro climbed out of her arms. She gave a quick start, reached for him, then sat back with a smile. The two American bodyguards were still seated on either side. Alessandro was standing in the aisle staring at one of them.

Mi chiamo Alessandro, e lei?

The man looked at him, smiled, and put out both hands helplessly. No capito. He glanced at Isabella for help.

He asked you your name.

Oh. Steve. And you're ' Alexandra?

Alessandro. He corrected sedately, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

Okay, Alessandro. Have you ever seen one of these? He pulled out an American fifty-cent piece, made it disappear, then promptly removed it from one of Alessandro's ears. The boy gave a delighted squeal and clapped his hands for more. A fifty-cent piece, a nickel, a quarter, then a dime appeared and disappeared while they struck up an awkward conversation, Alessandro chattering in Italian and the large man communicating mostly in mime.

Again Isabella closed her eyes. It had all gone smoothly so far; all she had to do now was get through customs in New York and then back to Natasha's apartment, where she would take off all her clothes, sink into a tub of warm water, and hide for the rest of her life. She felt as though she'd been wearing the same clothes for the past week.

They had dinner, watched a movie and, except for two trips to the bathroom with Alessandro, they never left their seats. When they did, both guards casually came along. But Isabella was quick to notice that no one on the plane had shown an interest. Even the stewardesses seemed unimpressed. They were listed on the manifest only as I. and A. Gregorio, S. Connally, and J. Falk. Nothing exciting about that. Her long dark mink had drawn a look of approval from the chief steward, but even that was not remarkable. On the run between London and New York, they saw plenty of mink. Had they seen some of the jewelry carefully hidden at the bottom of her handbag they might have been more impressed.

We'll be coming in to New York in about half an hour, the man named Steve leaned over to say. He spoke in a hushed, barely audible voice, and Isabella nodded her head. Mrs. Walker will be waiting for you on the other side of customs. We'll go with you as far as her car.