Chapter 3

The winter without Shep was hard for Allegra. She tried to occupy her time with schoolwork. She had her senior thesis to write. She had chosen to do it about the hidden themes in Shakespeare, which was an ambitious subject, but working on it filled her winter nights. She spent Thanksgiving with her VanderHolt grandparents, and was sad to see for the first time that her grandfather was confused. She'd never noticed it before. Arthur was seventy-nine years old, and had seemed fine until then.

Her grandparents stayed in New York for the holidays, and Allegra spent Christmas with them. Her grandmother, Mariette, inquired about Shep, and when Allegra said he was in Afghanistan for a six-month tour of duty Mariette was surprised to hear it.

Allegra had letters from Shep regularly and he called her when he could. He sounded tired when he called, and he said conditions there were rigorous and worse than he'd been told, but he didn't offer any details. She didn't know if he meant living conditions for the officers and troops, or the state of the war. He had seen her father once, and they'd talked for a few minutes. He said her father appeared to be thriving, which didn't surprise her. Being sent to war zone posts always revitalized him. She wondered if he'd ever retire. But she was more concerned about Shep. He sounded discouraged in some of his letters, and said he couldn't wait to come home.

She spent spring break in the library at Columbia, working on her thesis. She would be graduating in May and had to finish it. Shep was more than halfway through his tour of duty by then, and she was counting the days until he came home. She smiled whenever she looked at her wedding band on her finger. When she visited her grandparents, she always wore another ring that obscured it, but the rest of the time it was the only piece of jewelry she wore. It reminded her of the promise of their marriage and better times to come, when they wouldn't be separated.

They were holding up under the strain, and she wrote to him almost daily, sharing all her thoughts in his absence and telling him what she was doing. She wrote about the few friends she saw when she wasn't studying, only one or two knew she was married. He said her letters were keeping him going and meant the world to him. He had taken a stack of photographs of her with him, and he looked at them constantly. He thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world. She smiled whenever he said it. She didn't believe him, but it was nice to hear, and to know that he felt that way.

—

At Easter, Allegra's grandfather had a bad fall. He slipped getting out of the shower and broke a hip. It needed surgery, and the operation didn't go as smoothly as they hoped. Allegra dutifully went to see him, and he looked as though he had aged ten years. She noticed that his confusion had gotten worse. He kept thinking she was her mother and calling her Isabelle. Allegra thought Arthur was young to have dementia at seventy-nine. And for the first time, she felt sorry for her grandmother. She was distraught about her husband, and afraid to lose him. Allegra went to have dinner with her a few times, and tried to reassure her. Mariette complained that Isabelle had only called twice to see how her father was and hadn't come to New York to see him.

"She's got to be the most self-centered woman in the world," Mariettte commented, surprisingly lucid, and then looked at Allegra. "Why am I telling you that? She was completely irresponsible as a mother, and she's never been much better to us as a daughter. It didn't matter so much when we were younger, but it does now. Your grandfather keeps asking for her, and I keep reminding him that she's in London, and I say she's busy. But there's really no excuse for her not calling him. And it wouldn't kill her to show up in New York once in a while. All she thinks about is going to parties. She hasn't changed since she was a young girl. She's forty-four years old, and you'd think by now she would have settled down. That man she's been dating for the last year sounds no better than she is. They go to hunts and parties and balls all over Europe. I read about her in magazines more than we hear from her." They were all the reasons she had abandoned Allegra fifteen years earlier. Isabelle's parents were equally social and superficial in their own snobbish way, but they had never abandoned their daughter, she had abandoned them, and their marriage had been solid for fifty years. They had celebrated their golden wedding anniversary the year before and given a big party in Newport for their friends. They had invited Allegra, and she had gone with Shep. Her grandmother had worn an elegant and subdued gold dress by Oscar de la Renta.

Her grandfather's situation didn't improve. He came home from the hospital and caught bronchitis, which turned into pneumonia.

Allegra went to visit them and was shocked at her grandfather's condition. He looked like he had lost twenty pounds, and he didn't recognize her. For the first time, she had genuine feelings for them. Her grandmother looked desperate. Arthur had around-the-clock nurses, and on Easter Sunday, he slipped away and died in his sleep.

Her grandmother called her to tell her the news, early on Easter morning, and Allegra dressed hastily and took a cab to their apartment. Mariette was sitting in her bedroom, bereft, wearing a plain black dress, and suddenly looked a hundred years old, although she was only seventy-four. It made Allegra aware of how much Mariette had loved him, and it reminded her of how heartbroken she would be if something happened to Shep.

She helped her grandmother make the arrangements. She called the funeral home and wrote the obituary for her. There wasn't a great deal to say about her grandfather. Arthur VanderHolt had been an investment banker for many years and had retired fourteen years before. He belonged to all the right clubs in New York and had gone to Princeton. He had no outstanding accomplishments. He came from an aristocratic family but didn't have a huge fortune. He and Mariette had money, but he wasn't famous, he was just well known in the blue-blood social circles they moved in. The obituary Allegra wrote said that he was of New York, New York, and Newport, Rhode Island, and was survived by his widow, Mariette Ashton VanderHolt, a daughter, Isabelle VanderHolt of London, and a granddaughter, Allegra Dixon. She had written "beloved" husband and father, had hesitated for a long time, staring at the page, and had finally added the word "beloved" before grandfather. It was her final tribute to him. He had never been particularly interested in her, and Allegra remembered how reluctant he and Mariette had been to have her visit from boarding school when she was eleven, and how chilly they had been to her, having her eat with the staff in the kitchen. But in the end, they had been reasonably decent and faithful grandparents to her for the past ten years. Their affection for each other had grown over time, and they had never turned their backs on her as her parents had. In fact, they were shocked by how little her father saw of her, and much more so by their own daughter, who had abandoned a six-year-old, had never mended her ways, and had made no attempt to make amends or get to know Allegra.

Mariette realized now that Allegra was a lovely young woman with far better morals and values than her mother had, and who had never had the benefit of any affection whatsoever from her parents. Mariette thought it was appalling and was ashamed of her own daughter for having neglected Allegra all her life. She thought it was a wonder Allegra had turned out so well, no thanks to Isabelle. Mariette regretted now not having spent more time with Allegra when she was younger, and was touched that Allegra didn't hold it against them.

"Isabelle says she's coming to the funeral," Mariette said to Allegra in a small voice over tea that afternoon. She looked drained. It had been the worst day of her life. "It's the least she can do. She hasn't been to visit us in almost four years. She's always too busy, and your grandfather hasn't wanted to travel for the last five years. She could have come to see us. She's arriving the night before the funeral, and only staying for two days. Ever since her great friend Warhol died, she's not interested in coming to New York. I think he died the year after she left your father. That's when she moved to London. The party was over for her here." She spoke in a disapproving tone, and Allegra didn't comment. She knew from her father that her mother had been part of that whole scene, although he didn't speak of it often, and hadn't in years. He never mentioned Isabelle anymore.

—

True to her word, Isabelle arrived the night before the funeral, and stayed at the Carlyle. She arrived at the apartment two hours before the funeral in a chic black Chanel suit, with a big black hat that made her look incredibly glamorous, and she was wearing big dark glasses. In spite of herself, Allegra was excited about seeing her. She had seen so little of her mother in her life that Isabelle was like the Ghost of Christmas Past appearing, and Allegra was fascinated by her. At forty-four, she was strikingly beautiful, and had an ease and grace about her. She hugged her mother, and then Allegra, and blew a kiss into the air.

Allegra had worn a plain black dress, a black coat, and high heels, and had done her red hair in a simple bun. She didn't have a black hat to wear. She looked plain and beautiful, with very little makeup, just some mascara and pale pink lipstick. The resemblance between mother and daughter was still striking. They looked as if they could have been sisters. Years before, Allegra might have questioned her mother about why she had removed herself so totally from her life, and if she regretted it, but this wasn't the time. It was obvious that Isabelle had no regrets. She looked happy and at ease as she floated around the room like a butterfly, as she always did. She asked if there was anything she could do to help, but it was much too late for that. Allegra and her grieving grandmother had done it all by then.

"Allegra helped me," Mariette said sternly, in a tone of reproach.

"What a good girl," Isabelle said with a smile at her daughter, and Allegra noticed that she was wearing a large diamond solitaire on her left hand. Mariette noticed it a few minutes later.

"What's that?" she asked bluntly.

"I'm engaged," Isabelle said, looking sultry and coy. "Hubert finally proposed. We're getting married this summer on a friend's boat in Saint-Tropez. I'm not sure I'm cut out for marriage, but after three years, we know each other well. We're kindred spirits. He's never been keen on marriage either."

"At least you won't be having more children," her mother said tersely, in defense of Allegra.

"Hubert has five. That's more than enough. Fortunately, they all live in South Africa. They never come to England. His ex-wife is South African. She took them all back to Cape Town with her when they divorced, ages ago. He's not close to any of them," she said, with obvious relief.

"And that's something to be proud of?" Mariette said, angry at her daughter again. Allegra had remained silent.

"It makes life simpler," Isabelle said with a sigh, glancing at Allegra. There wasn't a trace of guilt in her smile. "Your grandparents have taken good care of you," she said breezily to Allegra. It was a statement and not a question. In fact no one had taken care of Allegra, or her emotional needs, for her entire life, which her mother didn't know or care about. Isabelle was a rare and most unusual breed, with no maternal instincts whatsoever.

It was almost time for the funeral then, and Mariette went to put on her hat and coat. She was wearing a small black hat with a veil, no jewelry, and a black mink coat, since there was still a chill in the air. Isabelle went to straighten her hat and put on some lipstick, and Allegra stood by to help her grandmother, and put on her plain black coat, which hung shapelessly on her. It wasn't chic or beautiful, but it was respectful, which her grandmother appreciated.

"I'm sorry," her grandmother whispered to her, as Allegra helped her with her coat. "She never changes. It's who she is." Allegra nodded, still somewhat taken aback by how blithe her mother was about her lack of interest in children, even and perhaps especially her own. She wasn't in the least apologetic about it.

They rode in the limousine to the church together. The hearse was already there, at St. Ignatius Loyola on Park Avenue, and the casket was at the altar. Many people were already seated when they walked in, and there was soft organ music playing. Copies of the program Allegra and her grandmother had put together, with the photograph Mariette had chosen of her husband, were sitting on the pews. Allegra noticed several people recognizing Isabelle.

The service began shortly after they arrived and was simple and respectful. It wasn't showy but it was dignified and elegant. There were lilies and orchids on the altar and the casket, and in two large urns, and the flowers people had sent were set up around the altar. The guests paid their respects to a man who had been unexceptional but who had been a good friend to many of them. He had been well liked in his community and at his clubs. Allegra noticed that the caretakers of the house in Newport were there. She was sorry Shep couldn't be there too.

Mariette and Isabelle spoke briefly to several people after the service. None of them paid attention to Allegra. She had always been the invisible child, and most had never talked to her. They were dazzled by Isabelle, as she had intended. She liked being the star of the show.

Caterers had set up at the apartment for a small reception afterward, and Allegra had called her grandmother's close friends for her. They came to the apartment and stayed for an hour or so. And as soon as they left, Isabelle went to change, reappeared in a black pantsuit she had brought with her, and announced that she was meeting friends for dinner. She said she assumed her mother was exhausted and would want to rest, and she kissed her and waved at Allegra. She didn't ask Allegra to join her, and Allegra wasn't surprised. Isabelle left in a cloud of perfume with her red hair down, and Mariette looked at her granddaughter and shook her head.

"I don't know why I always expect her to be different. I thought she'd grow up eventually, but she never has. She will be a beautiful butterfly forever. I don't think she's ever loved anyone in her life. I hope her new husband knows what he's getting into. From all I hear, he's much the same. Thank you for helping me to put the service together, Allegra. It was beautiful. Your grandfather would have loved it. It was dignified and perfect."

"Thank you." Allegra smiled at her. She felt sorry for her grandmother. Life as she had known it was over. It wouldn't be the same for her without her husband, and she knew it. She was mourning both the man and the life they had shared, which had brought them both a great deal of pleasure, but would be entirely different now for Mariette, alone. "You should try to get some rest," Allegra said gently, and her grandmother nodded, and went to her room a few minutes later to lie down. Allegra went to her own room and took off the ugly black dress and put on jeans and a sweater. She was thinking about Shep. She would be graduating in seven weeks, and he was due back two weeks later. His tour of duty in Afghanistan was almost over. They had survived it. It hadn't been easy, but they had gotten through it, and had remained in constant contact. She was sure that there were things he wasn't allowed to tell her, but even if he sounded stressed at times, and even disheartened, he seemed okay.

—

Allegra saw her mother again the day after the funeral, when she came to visit Mariette. She spent an hour talking to her, and went through some papers and photographs of her father her mother wanted her to see. Mariette had come across them while looking for the photograph for the funeral program. There was a particularly nice photograph of Isabelle and her father at her coming-out ball. She was in a beautiful white dress. She looked spectacular and her father was very handsome. He was a very distinguished-looking man. He'd been about fifty-four years old in the picture, and Isabelle was eighteen. She had married Bradley Dixon only four years later. Between the two events she had gone wild with the Warhol crowd, and at Studio 54. She often said those had been her best years, and surely the most fun. Twenty-five years later, she was still having fun.

Isabelle showed the photograph of her debut to Allegra, who looked at it admiringly. She could see the resemblance, but her mother was so much more flamboyant and extroverted. She radiated excitement and joy. Allegra was a much quieter person, with a much more peaceful nature. She would never have dared to be as exuberant as her mother. She had been forced to hide all her life from people who didn't want her around, or to nurture herself when they left her to her own devices or abandoned her like her parents. She had never had the luxury of being as sure of herself as Isabelle was. She couldn't even imagine what that would feel like. Allegra had been forced to be invisible for most of her life, in order to avoid getting hurt or rejected.

"Studio 54 was fantastic," Isabelle said to Allegra, with the light of memory in her eyes. "It didn't last long, but it was fabulous. People really had fun then. The world is a lot quieter and more boring now."

"Maybe fewer drugs," Mariette commented, and as Isabelle laughed, Allegra heard the sound that had reminded her of bells as a child. She remembered that and the scent of her exotic perfume most of all.

"I used to love your perfume," Allegra said with a dreamy expression.

Her mother smiled at the memory. "I wore two in those days, Femme by Rochas and Shalimar by Guerlain. I blended them myself. I don't wear either of them anymore. It's funny that you remember that." She looked touched for a moment. Allegra didn't say that she had so few memories of her mother to hang on to that her perfumes stood out, and they had been very distinctive. She hadn't smelled them on anyone else since, and in her memory they belonged to her mother.

—

Isabelle stood up to leave a little while later, and said she had a lunch to go to. She was meeting some old friends.

"I'm flying back to London tonight," she said. She was wearing a white skirt with a black jacket and looked very chic again, and sexy in very high heels. She had terrific legs, and Allegra realized that she had the same ones, but never showed them off with short skirts and stiletto heels the way her mother did. Allegra had noticed that Isabelle's shoes had red soles. Everything about her was noticeable and striking, while everything about Allegra was soft and subtle. Her mother wasn't warm. She was a showpiece that would attract attention anywhere, which was what she wanted.

Allegra left her mother and grandmother alone for a few minutes, in case they wanted to say a private goodbye. She was always careful not to be intrusive, and despite her close blood relation to them, she and they were strangers to each other. She came back to the living room five minutes later and didn't see Isabelle. She looked puzzled, and glanced at her grandmother for an explanation.

"She's gone," Mariette said with a look of resignation. "She flits in and out. She's a steel butterfly. She looks delicate but she isn't. She's as tough as nails and she always gets what she wants."

"I wanted to say goodbye to her," Allegra said, looking bereft for a minute. Isabelle's departure brought back a flood of memories of waiting on her bed all day, holding her teddy bear. And history had just repeated itself. Once again, the woman who was her mother, and didn't want to be, had forgotten to say goodbye. Or maybe this time she hadn't forgotten, she just didn't want to. Goodbyes were much too complicated for her, and required emotions she didn't want to feel.

"That's how she is," Mariette said quietly. "God knows when I'll see her again." Allegra was thinking the same thing. Maybe never. Once every five or ten years, Isabelle blew in on a gust of wind and flew away just as quickly. Her grandmother was right. She was a steel butterfly, with a heart of stone.

Allegra's heart only bled for a few minutes this time. But she remembered so clearly for an instant how she had felt that day, sitting on her bed, waiting for her mother to say goodbye to her, and her father to tell her what was going to happen to her, holding on to George, her teddy bear, for dear life. Now, Isabelle had forgotten to say goodbye again. It was a clear message of how little her daughter meant to her. But this time, Allegra didn't care as much. She had Shep. He was her husband, and he was coming home in two months.

—

Allegra graduated from Columbia in May, alone. Her grandmother had said she'd come, but she called Allegra early that morning and said she just wasn't feeling up to it. Mariette hadn't felt well since her husband had died, and she had hardly gotten out of bed since the funeral. She was afraid that if she went, she might faint and cause a scene. Allegra said she understood, and hung up the phone. Shep had called the night before to wish her luck. He felt terrible that she had gone through her grandfather's funeral without him, and had seen her mother. She told him that Isabelle had forgotten to say goodbye. It was almost ironic this time, sixteen years later. Allegra had just turned twenty-two.

The ceremony was very moving, and she got her diploma. She threw her mortarboard cap in the air like everyone else. There was no one there to celebrate her, and it didn't matter. She was with her classmates, had gotten her degree, and could look for a job now. She had already sent her résumé to several publishers. She wanted to be an editorial assistant. Books had always been important to her.

After she returned the gown she had rented, and the cap once she retrieved it, she kept the tassel as a souvenir. She had handed in her senior thesis on time before graduation. Her father sent her a telegram congratulating her, so at least he had remembered, and her grandmother had given her a nice check the week before.

After the ceremony, all the students went out with their parents. There were parties all over the city, and in student apartments. Graduates were moving out of the dorms, and others were packing up for the summer. Apartments like hers were being vacated. Allegra was keeping hers for when Shep came home. He was going to move to New York with her when the army released him, and go back and forth until then. They had their whole lives ahead of them, and everything to look forward to.

She got calls for two interviews in the weeks after graduation, and the day she and Shep had waited for finally came. He had been delayed for a few days, and she went to Washington to meet him. He was due in on a flight the morning after she took the train to Washington. She stayed at a hotel near the base where she'd stayed before. She was waiting in the visiting area at the time he had given her, and then she saw him, loping toward her with his familiar gait. She couldn't even see his face yet, but she would have known the way he walked anywhere. As she approached him, she started running, and flew into his arms the moment she got to him. He had grown a mustache, which made him look older, and she could see how thin he was. His eyes looked sunken when she backed away a few inches to take a look at him after he kissed her. He clung to her as though he was drowning and couldn't let her go. There were tears in his eyes and on her cheeks when he kissed her again. It was a moment she knew she would always remember as he held her. There was something unbearably sad in his eyes, but he was smiling. She could tell that he had seen things he never should have, but he was home now, he was alive, and he was safe. Whatever he had seen, she would help him forget.

"Welcome home, Shep," she said softly, as he held her.

"There were times when I thought I'd never see you again," he whispered, and she knew it was the truth from the way he looked when he said it.

"I was here, waiting for you," she said, as he put an arm around her shoulders and they walked slowly toward where she'd left the car she had rented. He wanted to drive to New York with her, he didn't want to take the train. He wanted to be alone with her. The hard, lonely months melted away as they looked at each other, and she smiled.

"Let's drive up to Newport tomorrow. We can stay at my parents' house. There's no one there yet," he said. He had three weeks of leave before he had to be at the intelligence office in Washington. He didn't have to be back in Washington until then. He wanted to see the ocean and smell the air. He wanted to put everything he'd seen behind him and be with Allegra.

"We can do whatever you want," she said peacefully. Everything in her life seemed perfect now that he was home.

"I have to see my parents. We can go to Boston in a few days. I want to be alone with you first."

"When are we going to tell them that we're married?"

"Whenever you want, Mrs. Williams." He grinned at her, and she saw in his smile the boy she had fallen in love with when she was sixteen. His eyes were the eyes of a man who had seen too much pain and suffering in the past six months, and had suffered himself. His face was thinner, but there was still something boyish about his face and the way he looked at her. He was twenty-six years old now, and she was twenty-two. Best of all, she was his wife, and he had come back to her safe and alive and whole. They hadn't destroyed him, and he was hers again, to have and to hold, forever.