Read Online Remembrance by Danielle Steel - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Danielle Steel
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secretary, in one of the large handsome rooms upstairs.
But half an hour later even Marcella had forgotten those hopes. They were both busy running up and down stairs, helping the orderlies to carry boxes, and figuring out what to put in what rooms. It was mostly Serena who helped them. Marcella was too old to run up and down the stairs. But Serena ran rapidly alongside them and seemed to be in a thousand places, saying little, overseeing everything, and seeming to assist with a dozen pairs of hands.
“Thank you.” The head orderly smiled at her at the end of the afternoon as she brought him and his men six cups of steaming coffee. “We couldn't have managed without you.” He wasn't sure if she understood him, but he knew that she spoke a little English and she would easily understand the tone of his voice and his broad smile. He was a heavyset man in his late forties, he had a broad chest, a bald head, and warm brown eyes. “What's your name, miss?” Serena hesitated for only a moment, and then knowing that it would have to come sooner or later, she spoke softly.
“Serena.”
“Sereena.” He repeated immediately with the American pronunciation, but she didn't mind it. And after a day of watching him work as hard as his men, she didn't mind him. He was a good man and a hard worker, and he had helped her often, taking heavy boxes from her, in spite of her protests. But he simply took them in his huge hands and continued up the stairs.
He was the first man in the uniform of any country who had actually won one of her rare smiles. “My name is Charlie, Serena. Charlie Crockman.” He put out one of his thick hands and she extended hers. Their eyes met for a moment and he smiled again. “You worked very hard today.”
“And you too.” She smiled shyly, not looking at the other men.
But Charlie laughed. “Not nearly as hard as we're going to work tomorrow.”
“More?” Serena looked shocked. They had already filled every room with boxes and files and cabinets and luggage, desks and lamps and chairs and a hundred other things. Where on earth would they put anything more? she wondered, but Charlie Crockman shook his head.
“No, nothing like that. Tomorrow we get down to the real work here. The major will be here tomorrow morning.” He rolled his eyes with another grin. “And we'd damn well better have everything unpacked and moving by noon.” The men groaned and broke into conversation.
“I thought he went to Spoleto for the weekend?” one of the men complained loudly, but Charlie Crockman shook his head again.
“Not him. If I know the major, he'll be here tonight until midnight, setting up his files and his desk.” Now mat he and his men had moved in, the army had also assigned the major a fresh load of tasks. B.J. Fullerton had been something of a hero during the war, and now he was getting his first shot at something important behind a desk. Hence the palazzo.
“Shit.” Serena heard one of the men say it and appeared not to hear them, and a few minutes later as they continued the conversation she slipped away. In the cozy kitchen she found Marcella, soaking her feet and sitting back in a chair with her eyes closed. Serena slipped her hands onto the old woman's shoulders and began to massage gently, as Marcella smiled.
“Sei tu?”
“Who do you think it is?”
“My little angel.” They both smiled. It had been a long day.
“Why don't you let me cook dinner tonight, Celia?” But the old woman wouldn't hear of it. She already had a tiny chicken in the oven, and there was pasta bubbling softly on the stove. There would be fresh lettuce from the garden, and some carrots and some basil, and the little tomatoes Marcella had just started to grow. It was a delicious meal when it was all over, and Serena could hardly keep her eyes open as she helped clear the table and urged Marcella to go to bed. She was too old to work as hard as she had. “And tonight I'm making you hot milk and sugar. And
But half an hour later even Marcella had forgotten those hopes. They were both busy running up and down stairs, helping the orderlies to carry boxes, and figuring out what to put in what rooms. It was mostly Serena who helped them. Marcella was too old to run up and down the stairs. But Serena ran rapidly alongside them and seemed to be in a thousand places, saying little, overseeing everything, and seeming to assist with a dozen pairs of hands.
“Thank you.” The head orderly smiled at her at the end of the afternoon as she brought him and his men six cups of steaming coffee. “We couldn't have managed without you.” He wasn't sure if she understood him, but he knew that she spoke a little English and she would easily understand the tone of his voice and his broad smile. He was a heavyset man in his late forties, he had a broad chest, a bald head, and warm brown eyes. “What's your name, miss?” Serena hesitated for only a moment, and then knowing that it would have to come sooner or later, she spoke softly.
“Serena.”
“Sereena.” He repeated immediately with the American pronunciation, but she didn't mind it. And after a day of watching him work as hard as his men, she didn't mind him. He was a good man and a hard worker, and he had helped her often, taking heavy boxes from her, in spite of her protests. But he simply took them in his huge hands and continued up the stairs.
He was the first man in the uniform of any country who had actually won one of her rare smiles. “My name is Charlie, Serena. Charlie Crockman.” He put out one of his thick hands and she extended hers. Their eyes met for a moment and he smiled again. “You worked very hard today.”
“And you too.” She smiled shyly, not looking at the other men.
But Charlie laughed. “Not nearly as hard as we're going to work tomorrow.”
“More?” Serena looked shocked. They had already filled every room with boxes and files and cabinets and luggage, desks and lamps and chairs and a hundred other things. Where on earth would they put anything more? she wondered, but Charlie Crockman shook his head.
“No, nothing like that. Tomorrow we get down to the real work here. The major will be here tomorrow morning.” He rolled his eyes with another grin. “And we'd damn well better have everything unpacked and moving by noon.” The men groaned and broke into conversation.
“I thought he went to Spoleto for the weekend?” one of the men complained loudly, but Charlie Crockman shook his head again.
“Not him. If I know the major, he'll be here tonight until midnight, setting up his files and his desk.” Now mat he and his men had moved in, the army had also assigned the major a fresh load of tasks. B.J. Fullerton had been something of a hero during the war, and now he was getting his first shot at something important behind a desk. Hence the palazzo.
“Shit.” Serena heard one of the men say it and appeared not to hear them, and a few minutes later as they continued the conversation she slipped away. In the cozy kitchen she found Marcella, soaking her feet and sitting back in a chair with her eyes closed. Serena slipped her hands onto the old woman's shoulders and began to massage gently, as Marcella smiled.
“Sei tu?”
“Who do you think it is?”
“My little angel.” They both smiled. It had been a long day.
“Why don't you let me cook dinner tonight, Celia?” But the old woman wouldn't hear of it. She already had a tiny chicken in the oven, and there was pasta bubbling softly on the stove. There would be fresh lettuce from the garden, and some carrots and some basil, and the little tomatoes Marcella had just started to grow. It was a delicious meal when it was all over, and Serena could hardly keep her eyes open as she helped clear the table and urged Marcella to go to bed. She was too old to work as hard as she had. “And tonight I'm making you hot milk and sugar. And
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