blessed, by what right?
"My God, you look lovely."
"Do you like it?"
"Are you serious? You look exquisite."
"Do I look like a bride?" He nodded gently, and then took her once more in his arms.
"Do you realize that an hour from now you'll be Mrs. Ivo Stewart?" And then he smiled down at her, dwarfed beside him. "How does that sound?"
"Lovely." She kissed him again, and then left his arms.
"Oh, that reminds me ..." He reached suddenly behind him to something enveloped in pale-green tissue on the hall chair. He held it out to her with a look of tenderness. "For you."
She took it from him carefully, tearing the paper, and the smell of lilies of the valley suddenly filled the hall. "Oh, Ivo, where did you get them?" It was a beautiful little bouquet made of white roses and the tiny delicate white flowers from France.
"I had them sent over from Paris. Do you like the bouquet?"
She nodded happily and reached up to kiss him once more. But he stopped her and presented with a flourish a smaller package. She opened it up. There weren't words big enough to describe the nine-carat diamond ring gleaming brilliantly on a bed of midnight-blue velvet.
"Oh, Ivo, I don't know what to say."
"Say nothing, my love, just wear this ring and be happy and safe and secure forever."
The ceremony was over in minutes. The words had been said, the rings exchanged. Bettina was now Ivo's wife. She hadn't even wanted a party. She was still, after all, grieving for her father. They had dinner at Lutece, at a quiet table in the rear, and afterward they went dancing, and Bettina stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear.
"I love you, Ivo." She looked so tiny, so fragile, and so much like a little girl. But she wasn't, she was his woman. Now. Entirely his. Forever.
Chapter 13
Nervously Bettina fastened diamond clips to her ears and ran a brush through her hair. She swirled it around her hand deftly and wound it into a smooth, ladylike knot. The deep auburn lights shone as she smoothed it, and when she had put the last of the pins in her hair, she stood up. Her body seemed tighter and thinner, and as she stood in a black lace dress, which reached to her ankles and black satin shoes, she could see her reflection across her dressing room in the long mirrored wall. Ivo had had the room put in especially for her, in the new apartment they'd bought on their first anniversary five months before. It was perfect for their life-style, a duplex with a beautiful view of Central Park. Their bedroom had a large handsome terrace, they each had a dressing room, and there was a small den for Ivo upstairs. Downstairs there was a living room, a wood-paneled dining room, and a kitchen, and behind it a nice-sized room for Mathilde. It was perfect. Not too grandiose, and yet it was far from small. Bettina had done it precisely as she wanted, except for the few touches Ivo had added for her, the little room of closets, the funny little gazebo on the large terrace, and a wonderful old-fashioned swing that he had hooked to the thin lip of overhanging roof. He had teased her that they would sit out there on summer evenings, dreaming and "necking on their back porch."
But it was rare for them to spend a night in the city during the summer. The repertory group for which she was now assistant manager and which had become more legitimate and moved uptown, had no performances in July and August and she and Ivo summered in South Hampton now. They had bought their own house. Her life was once more as it had been with her father, with the exception that she was happier than she had ever been before. She only worked five nights a week now, and on Sundays and Mondays, they gave elegant dinners for twelve or fourteen or showed films at home. Ivo had access to all the new movies, and once in a while she was able to sneak away for a ballet, a gala, an opening, or just an evening at Lutece or Cote Basque. And in spite of it all they managed to spend quite a bit of time alone, after the
"My God, you look lovely."
"Do you like it?"
"Are you serious? You look exquisite."
"Do I look like a bride?" He nodded gently, and then took her once more in his arms.
"Do you realize that an hour from now you'll be Mrs. Ivo Stewart?" And then he smiled down at her, dwarfed beside him. "How does that sound?"
"Lovely." She kissed him again, and then left his arms.
"Oh, that reminds me ..." He reached suddenly behind him to something enveloped in pale-green tissue on the hall chair. He held it out to her with a look of tenderness. "For you."
She took it from him carefully, tearing the paper, and the smell of lilies of the valley suddenly filled the hall. "Oh, Ivo, where did you get them?" It was a beautiful little bouquet made of white roses and the tiny delicate white flowers from France.
"I had them sent over from Paris. Do you like the bouquet?"
She nodded happily and reached up to kiss him once more. But he stopped her and presented with a flourish a smaller package. She opened it up. There weren't words big enough to describe the nine-carat diamond ring gleaming brilliantly on a bed of midnight-blue velvet.
"Oh, Ivo, I don't know what to say."
"Say nothing, my love, just wear this ring and be happy and safe and secure forever."
The ceremony was over in minutes. The words had been said, the rings exchanged. Bettina was now Ivo's wife. She hadn't even wanted a party. She was still, after all, grieving for her father. They had dinner at Lutece, at a quiet table in the rear, and afterward they went dancing, and Bettina stood on tiptoe to whisper in his ear.
"I love you, Ivo." She looked so tiny, so fragile, and so much like a little girl. But she wasn't, she was his woman. Now. Entirely his. Forever.
Chapter 13
Nervously Bettina fastened diamond clips to her ears and ran a brush through her hair. She swirled it around her hand deftly and wound it into a smooth, ladylike knot. The deep auburn lights shone as she smoothed it, and when she had put the last of the pins in her hair, she stood up. Her body seemed tighter and thinner, and as she stood in a black lace dress, which reached to her ankles and black satin shoes, she could see her reflection across her dressing room in the long mirrored wall. Ivo had had the room put in especially for her, in the new apartment they'd bought on their first anniversary five months before. It was perfect for their life-style, a duplex with a beautiful view of Central Park. Their bedroom had a large handsome terrace, they each had a dressing room, and there was a small den for Ivo upstairs. Downstairs there was a living room, a wood-paneled dining room, and a kitchen, and behind it a nice-sized room for Mathilde. It was perfect. Not too grandiose, and yet it was far from small. Bettina had done it precisely as she wanted, except for the few touches Ivo had added for her, the little room of closets, the funny little gazebo on the large terrace, and a wonderful old-fashioned swing that he had hooked to the thin lip of overhanging roof. He had teased her that they would sit out there on summer evenings, dreaming and "necking on their back porch."
But it was rare for them to spend a night in the city during the summer. The repertory group for which she was now assistant manager and which had become more legitimate and moved uptown, had no performances in July and August and she and Ivo summered in South Hampton now. They had bought their own house. Her life was once more as it had been with her father, with the exception that she was happier than she had ever been before. She only worked five nights a week now, and on Sundays and Mondays, they gave elegant dinners for twelve or fourteen or showed films at home. Ivo had access to all the new movies, and once in a while she was able to sneak away for a ballet, a gala, an opening, or just an evening at Lutece or Cote Basque. And in spite of it all they managed to spend quite a bit of time alone, after the
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