she peeked inside as her friend opened the bedroom door, she caught her breath and clasped her hands. “Oh Gio, it’s simply gorgeous,” she exclaimed, stepping into the room.
“You like it? I had it completely redone as soon as you said you were coming. They finished yesterday,” she giggled.
Enchanted, Elm moved about the room, touched more by the generosity of Gioconda’s gesture than the actual, undeniable loveliness of the decor itself. A luxurious mink throw lay strewn over a long ottoman at the foot of the king-size canopied bed, draped with old rose Toile de Jouy curtains that matched the walls. Scattered lamps shed their gentle glow about the room, their reflections shimmering in the large pine-framed mirror above the antique dressing table. It was feminine and sophisticated, warm and welcoming, everything she’d dreamed of during the chilling loneliness of the past two weeks. Turning, she embraced her friend tight.
“Thank you, Gio. This means more to me than you can possibly know.”
“Now, now, cara,” Gio scolded gruffly, wiping a tear from her own eyes. “There’s more.”
“More?”
“Look.” Gioconda moved and flung open another door. “Bathroom and walk-in closet, and over here,” she continued, moving toward two heavy quilted curtains, “is your very own special little nook.” She swept back the drapes with a flourish. “Voilà!”
Elm peered inside and let out a long sigh. “You’ve out-done yourself,” she murmured, stepping into the cozy little sitting room lined with carved pine bookshelves. A plump love seat piled high with tasseled velvet and brocade cushions stood invitingly before a blazing open fire, while more fat wax candles guttered gently on the low coffee table next to an array of glossy magazines and a basket of scented potpourri. “What can I say?” she whispered, raising her manicured hands expressively. “It’s perfect. I can’t believe you did all this for me.”
“If not for my dearest friend, then who would I do it for?” Gio laughed, thrilled at Elm’s reaction.
“I guess all I can say is a huge thank you.” The two women hugged again and Elm felt a warm glow of happiness.
“Now freshen up, cara. Umberto’s probably already uncorking the champagne,” Gio ordered. “And don’t worry about unpacking, Maria will deal with it later.”
Once she was alone in the room, Elm sank down, smiling, onto the well-sprung bed. She bounced on it twice, then sighed with pleasure. It was like waking up in a new world with no worries, no haunting shadows, and no doubts. It seemed that the mountain’s peace was finally hers to share once more.
Jumping up, all her fatigue forgotten, Elm pulled a hairbrush out of her purse and dragged it through the long strands falling on the shoulders of her white cashmere sweater. She’d made up her mind to have a true break, hadn’t she? To get her life in perspective before returning and facing the future. And that, she decided firmly, was exactly what she would do. She would live each precious moment of this blissful interlude to the hilt, savor each instant, engrave each sensation inside, then return to her own world a stronger and better person, able to face the decisions she would have to make.
And for the first time ever, she reminded herself proudly, those decisions would be hers alone to make.
7
Elm slid off the chairlift at the top of the Wassengrat run and straightened her ski poles. No more champagne anytime before Christmas, she swore, blinking and shaking her head, recalling the magnum her friends had insisted on opening last night to celebrate what her Old Rosey pals termed as her “return to the fold.” There were several of them at the delightful brasserie and club, where she’d sat on the zebra bench, enchanted, as old stories were exchanged and fun times recalled, and also a little ashamed that she’d lost touch with so many wonderful people. But they’d scoffed at her embarrassment, and made her feel so welcome, so at home, as though she hadn’t spent the past seventeen years away in a different world.
Now, after a long, delicious lunch accompanied by an excellent Bordeaux at the Eagle Club with Gioconda and several of her newfound friends—including Franco and Gianni, who were already excitedly planning the Florence exhibit of her paintings—Elm had spent what remained of the afternoon skiing with her pro, Rudy, whom she’d taken leave of at the bottom of the chairlift. Then, even though the hour was late, she’d decided to do one last run on her own.
It felt good to be by herself for a short while, skiing past the clusters of dark pines, taking her own lazy time to slide gracefully down the slope in the fresh virgin snow, feeling the cool wind whipping color into her cheeks and new life into her lungs. She’d often dreamed of these moments when things had been particularly dreary back home, when, lying languidly in the old canvas hammock, seeping in the damp summer heat under the protective shade of the live oaks, she’d picture herself shushing down the mountain, inhaling this crisp, invigorating air. Now that she was finally here, she felt revitalized.
It occurred to her that, since arriving in Gstaad, she’d had none of the symptoms that had so troubled her of late in Savannah. The dizzy spells had passed, the nausea subsided. Had it all been in her head? she wondered. Probably just a physical manifestation of the inner misery she’d been unwilling to acknowledge, she decided cynically.
She slowed, then stopped next to a knot of pines, watching the rays of soft winter sun indulge in a final flirt with the glistening white peaks before sinking gracefully into the valley. Although she’d left the States before learning the results of the extensive blood work ordered by Dr. Ashby, the Atlanta specialist Doc Philips had referred her to, she was certain now the tests would prove normal. Boy, was it good to feel like herself again. She smiled and gazed about her once more, capturing the beauty of the moment, the sun sinking behind the mountain, the range so clearly etched in the late afternoon light.
Elm prodded the snow with her pole and thought of Harlan. How strange that he already felt like part of her past. Indeed, everything that had formed her world back in Savannah, her daily activities and commitments, seemed distant and detached. Two weeks ago she’d been deeply involved in the garden project at Oleander that represented so much to her, listening to the heartbreaking stories of the women she’d recruited from the local women’s shelter, admiring them for having the will to survive the abuse they’d suffered. She’d marveled then at the contrast to her own safe, sterilized world, where the worst thing she faced was the inevitable round of fund-raisers and photo-ops with Harlan.
And even though the veil of security had now been stripped away, she suddenly realized that she’d had more in common with those women than she’d have imagined possible. She hoped that, like them, she’d continue to stand firm and tap into some well of inner strength to carve herself a new life. Of course, her life was made much easier than theirs. She had financial security to lean on. But that didn’t make it easy, all the same. The main thing was she’d made a start, she admitted proudly. Since the moment she’d told Meredith to file the divorce papers, she hadn’t had one doubt that she had made the right move.
Elm wiped her glasses and gazed about her. Perhaps she should just stop questioning herself and enjoy the time away.
Although her toes were slowly going numb, Elm adjusted her woollen cap and glasses and gazed about her once more, nose tingling. Her painting had made her an acute observer of her surroundings, but she’d never dared to focus that intense vision on herself. Now was as good a time as any to change that. After all, you could live a whole lifetime in a second, she reflected, drinking in the beauty; it was all up to what you saw, what you made of it, how you let it touch you. And now she was determined to see it all, feel
