The Shoemaker's Wife(147)

“Autumn in New York,” Laura said.

“Our favorite time of year!” Enza took in her friend, who opened her velvet opera coat to reveal a pregnancy so advanced, it appeared the baby could be born that same evening.

“You’re having a baby!” Enza threw her arms around Laura. “And soon!”

“I know. Forgive me, Enza, I wanted to tell you. But it’s been a very difficult pregnancy. The last week things have been so much better, but we’ve been on guard the whole time. The doctor said I would never have a baby, but here we are. It was a shock to Colin, to me, to the doctor, to the entire medical community as it stands in New York City. But it’s true, and we’re thrilled.”

“I have sons in college, and soon we’ll have a baby in the crib. We don’t know whether to be thrilled or . . . cry,” Colin teased.

Laura was at the peak of her beauty, the contrast of her pale skin and red hair were now softly dramatic. Her lovely profile had taken on the lines of aristocracy, and the sharp angles of her youth were gone.

“You should be on bed rest,” Enza told her.

“How could I rest? My best friend was on her way.”

Ciro and Colin joined them, and Laura embraced Ciro. “All right, all right, upstairs with you,” Colin said. Ciro reached to help Colin with the luggage, but a bellman whisked it away. Ciro turned to see a valet drive the Chapin Packard to the parking lot. Ciro shook his head. They were a long way from Chisholm.

The elevator opened into the foyer of the penthouse apartment. Laura had decorated the apartment in soft greens and yellow, obeying the rule Mrs. DeCoursey always proclaimed back at Milbank House: paint your rooms the colors you look best in.

The spacious rooms were well appointed with polished Chippendale furniture, Aubusson rugs, crystal sconces, milk-glass chandeliers, and oil paintings of pastoral settings, including the farm fields of Ireland, the black rage of the North Sea tossing a boat in its milky foam, and tasteful miniatures of single flowers, a daisy, a hydrangea, and a gardenia.

“You’re a long way from Hoboken,” Enza said.

Ciro and Colin had gone out on the terrace. “Back in bed, Mama,” Colin called out.

“I am!” Laura hollered back. She showed Enza the guest room, a cheery room with a canopied bed covered in chintz. “Come with me.” Enza followed Laura to the master bedroom, a cool blue room with trellis-patterned wallpaper and a satin-covered bed. Laura pulled off her cape, revealing a nightgown underneath. She climbed back into bed.

“When are you due?” Enza fluffed the pillows.

“Any minute.”

“Where’s the nursery?”

“I haven’t put it together.”

Enza sat on the bed. “Superstitious?”

“The doctor is concerned.” Laura wiped tears from her eyes. “And I’m scared.” Laura cried because at long last, in the arms of her longtime and best friend, she could be honest.

“Before I had Antonio, I had terrible feelings of doom. I’m sure your baby is fine.”

“Do you think so?”

“I’ve learned one important lesson in my life, and I’m going to share it with you. Don’t worry about bad things that haven’t happened yet. It will save you a lot of anxiety.”

Colin brought a tray of tea in for the ladies. “You girls catch up, but as soon as you do, it’s bedtime for the little mother here.”

“He’s so bossy,” Enza teased as Colin went. “So what’s the gossip? You said you had a lot.”

“Vito Blazek left the Met, and now he works at Radio City Music Hall. He’s on his third divorce. ”

“Can’t be!”

Laura nodded solemnly. “The three stages of romantic love for a flack: marry a showgirl, divorce her, marry the daughter of a producer, divorce her, marry a younger showgirl, and divorce her once you’ve come to your senses.”

“How awful.” Enza sipped her tea.

“Don’t you want to know how he looks?”

“Every detail,” Enza said.

“Gorgeous.”

Enza laughed. “That figures.”

“He’s no Ciro Lazzari. Honey, in the sweepstakes of the acquisition of handsome men, you got the golden ticket. The man you married is one in a million. But you know that.”

“And I’m going to lose him, Laura.”

“He looks well,” Laura said hopefully.

“I pray for him. I keep hoping that maybe the whole thing is a mistake. And when I say to that Ciro, he looks at me like I’m crazy. He knows the truth, and he’s accepting it. He’s never been a religious man, but he has an inner strength that defies faith itself.”

“Maybe the trip will cure him,” Laura said gently.

“That’s what I tell him. And I’m going to say the same thing to you. Your baby is fine. Believe it, and all will be well.”

Colin woke early to go to the Met for an early call. New scenery for the production of La Bohème was being delivered. Ciro left Enza and Laura after breakfast and went for a walk. His plan was to walk through Central Park, but he found himself walking south, down Fifth Avenue toward Little Italy. He thought about taking the trolley, but he felt good, and decided to see how the city had changed in the twelve years since he left.