Southern Belle

“He’s worried about you being out late with a strange man. I told him Johnny wasn’t strange, that you’ve known him for twenty years. He felt happier about it.”

“Gee, thanks! Anything else you’d like to share with the class?”

“No, but before I leave I want to know what happened.” Gioconda sat up straight, glanced at her Chopard diamond watch and moved her hands impatiently.

“Nothing happened.”

“Nothing? Not one itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny kiss?” Her hands dropped in patent disappointment. “Madonna mia, I had a better opinion of Graney than that.”

“Gio, don’t be ridiculous. We had a nice, pleasant, civilized evening, that’s all. Stop trying to make this into something it’s not.” Elm tried to sound convincing. It was true, of course. It had been a delightful evening. But to deny the undercurrents would be to fool herself.

“Are you going to see him today?”

“He said he’d call.” Elm glanced at her friend doubtfully. “But perhaps it would be better if I didn’t see him, Gio. I don’t need problems right now. I’ve got enough to cope with already, and I didn’t intend to—”

“Ah!” Gioconda rose from the bed, triumphant. “So nothing happened, but you know very well that it could happen if you let it, right, cara?”

“Lordy, I don’t know.” Elm threw up her hands in despair. “It’s too early in the morning to be talking about all this. Can’t I at least have a cup of coffee?” she countered. But as they made their way down the wide staircase and approached the dining room, Elm came to a sudden halt on the last step. “You know what Aunt Frances would say about all this, don’t you?” she asked.

“No, tell me.”

“That Johnny Graney has trouble written all over him and that one should always avoid what’s bound to end up in tears.”

“Va bene, I’ll say no more.” Gio shrugged, cast her eyes heavenward and mumbled in Italian as she led Elm into the dining room and poured her a large caffe latte.

“It’s not that I don’t like him,” Elm continued, “I do. In fact he’s—well—terrific. I just think I should back off a bit,” she murmured after the first long sip, “before he gets any ideas, you know…” She threw her friend a pregnant look.

“I know exactly what you mean.” Gio wiggled her black brows expressively and laughed. “Loosen up, Elm, you’re on vacation. You came here for a break, to get away from that idiot paranoid husband of yours and have fun. Let this be a fresh start. A little flirtation can’t do you any harm. Quite the opposite, I should think. Now, instead of blushing like a Victorian virgin, you should be thinking when and where you’re going to get him into bed.”

“Gio! It’s not like that,” Elm exclaimed, setting the large blue-and-yellow china cup down in the saucer with a bang. “We’re just old schoolmates. I mean, he hasn’t even kissed me.”

“Who are you trying to fool, bella?”

“I…” Their eyes met, Gioconda’s filled with wicked understanding and laughter.

“Go for it, Elm. You’re young, beautiful, single—nearly—and it seems to me it’s about time you caught up with all you’ve missed while you catered to Harlan Machiavelli MacBride. Why, you’ve about as much idea of men as you had when you left school. And Dio, that wasn’t saying much,” she added with feeling. “Besides, I’d be willing to bet Harlan was selfish as hell in bed.”

“Really, Gio,” Elm sputtered. “I don’t think it’s appropriate to be discussing this over breakfast.” Somehow discussing her husband didn’t seem right, even if he was out of the picture.

“Really, cara? And when, exactly, do you consider it an appropriate time?” Gioconda asked, spreading her tapered, scarlet-nailed fingers on the table, eyes brimming with affection.

“Oh, I don’t know! Why don’t you go skiing and leave me be,” Elm complained. “If Harlan was, well, not the world’s most exciting lover—though as you’ve pointed out, I don’t have much room for comparison—I always thought it was well…okay.” She shrugged. “It could have been my fault, too, you know,” she ventured. “After all, it takes two to tango.”

“Oh no, you don’t!” Gioconda jumped up, hair flying. “You’re not going to take the blame again. No way, bella.” She wagged a finger firmly. “All these years I’ve heard you convince yourself that everything wrong in that marriage was your fault. I didn’t say anything at the time because it wasn’t my place. But now, basta. No more. You’ve got more guts than that. Elm, recognize the truth,” she implored. “Harlan used you, just as he uses everybody, for your money, your father’s position and anything else he thought he could suck out of you.”

“You’re right. Though I like to think that, at least at the beginning, we were…well, I guess ‘in love’ seems like a big statement after all that’s happened since, but—” She looked away, the years of criticism and self-doubt rolling before her. “Anyway, Johnny’s probably just out for a good time,” she remarked, fiddling with the edge of the tablecloth.

“Isn’t that what you’re out for, too? You’re both adults. Where’s the glitch?”

Elm smiled briefly. “I guess there isn’t one. I’m just not as worldly as you, Gio. I need to adjust. It seems kind of…I dunno.” She shrugged once more and downed some more coffee.

“Whatever.” Gioconda shook her head. “I have to go.” She blew Elm a kiss from the door. “Just don’t take forever making up your mind about Viscount Graney. It’s—” she glanced at her watch “—my God, already the twenty-second of December today, and the vacation will be over in a couple of weeks. If I was you, I’d make my mind up fast.” She winked. “And remember, men are only good to have fun with. Enjoy it while it lasts. No commitments, no until-death-do-us-parts, just plain old fun.”

“You make it sound like I just want a handsome lover.”

“Frankly, cara, I think a handsome lover—and from the reports I’ve heard, Johnny’s pretty remarkable in that department—is exactly what you need.”

“Reports?” Elm squeaked, suddenly uncomfortable. It made her feel cheap, another notch in a well-used belt.

“Oh, stop getting uptight.”

“But you said—”

“Niente, nothing to worry about—” Gioconda waved dismissively “—just things one hears along the grapevine.”

A car horn hooted outside and Gioconda grabbed her anorak from the chair. “I have to get this show on the road if I want to catch the chopper. Bye, bella, have another coffee and relax. And remember, you’re not in Savannah anymore, there’s no need to be looking over your shoulder wondering what people are thinking. It’s your life. Live it. Ciao.” She waved goodbye.

The phone rang just as Gioconda closed the door, and Elm could hear Umberto’s deep voice answering the call. Her heart beat faster as she wondered if it was Johnny.

Confirmation came thirty seconds later. “Buon giorno, signora, the telephone is for you.” Umberto handed her the portable phone with a little bow then disappeared into the kitchen. Elm managed to quiet her pulse, but couldn’t suppress the grin covering her face from ear to ear.

It was at lunch on the sunny terrace of the Sonnenhof—a gorgeous chalet atop a mountain above the village of Saanen with a cozy wood interior, low pine beams, a killer view and food to die for—that Elm realized just what a hypocrite she’d been that morning. For sitting across from him, slowly sipping her Kir Royal, she couldn’t stop her vivid imagination from picturing them together, preferably somewhere quiet and undressed. The thought was deliciously shocking.

Johnny had picked her up at ten sharp and they’d driven up to Shönried, then done several runs down the Horneggli before ending up, well exercised, at the Sonnenhof. They’d laughed a lot, she reflected with a satisfied little sigh. Perhaps their conversation wasn’t terribly profound—they certainly hadn’t dug into world politics, which, after Harlan, was just fine by her—but he was amusing, charming and easygoing. Being with him wasn’t a strain. She didn’t have to think of what to say or wonder if he thought she was stupid, as she so often did with Harlan’s supercilious Washington cronies and the pseudo-intellectual group he liked to have hanging around him, parroting his opinions. This was simple, and reminded her of who she really was. Gio and Meredith were right, she concluded, she’d become so focused on catering to Harlan’s every whim that she’d lost touch with herself.

They had just ordered when she saw two men approach the table. One was of medium height, sandy-haired, in his mid-thirties, and obviously American, the other a boy who could only, she decided, be Johnny’s son. They were like peas in a pod, she reflected, realizing with a stab of nostalgia that it was like seeing a replica of Johnny all those years ago.

“Elm, this is my brother Liam, and my son, Nicky.”

“Hi.” They shook hands.

“Mind if they join us?” Johnny asked.

“Of course not.” She moved over on the corner bench and smiled invitingly at Nicky, who eyed her warily then sat down. Liam and Johnny sat opposite.

“So, you’re from Georgia?” Liam inquired.

“Savannah.”

“Beautiful city.”

“Dad, can I order a Coke?”

“Of course.” Johnny hailed the waitress. “I guess you’ll be having your usual, guys?”

“Yep.” Liam leaned back and smiled. “Only decent steak you can get in this town. He brings the meat in from Argentina. That’s the trouble in Europe, you can’t get—”

“Did you ski with my dad?” Nicky asked her suddenly.