Bill had asked Vanessa to meet him at Tavern On The Green at twelve-thirty on Saturday, and as she walked into the famous restaurant in Central Park she realized what a good choice it had been.
Always festive at any time of year, it was spectacular during the Christmas season. Beautifully decorated Christmas trees were strategically placed, strings of tiny fairy lights were hung in festoons throughout while branches of holly berries in vases and pink and red poinsettias in wooden tubs added an extra fillip to the seasonal setting.
The magnificent Venetian glass chandeliers, which were permanent fixtures in the main dining room, seemed more appropriate than ever at this time of year.
Bill spotted her immediately. Rising, he left the table and hurried forward to meet her.
As he came toward her, she thought how handsome he looked, and he was extremely well-dressed today. He wore a navy blue blazer, blue shirt, navy tie, and gray pants. He was bandbox perfect, right down to his well-polished brown loafers.
Grabbing her hands, he leaned into her, murmured, “You look great, darling,” and gave her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. “Come and meet the other two women I love,” he added as he led her to the table, the proud smile still in place.
Vanessa saw at once how attractive and elegant his mother was, and she seemed much younger than sixty-two. Dressed in a dark red wool suit that set off her beautifully coiffed auburn hair, she looked more like Bill’s older sister than his mother.
Sitting next to his mother was undoubtedly the most exquisite child Vanessa had ever seen. She had delicate, perfectly sculpted features, wide-set cornflower blue eyes that mirrored Bill’s, and glossy dark blond hair that fell in waves and curls to her shoulders.
“I’ve never seen a child who looks like that,” Vanessa exclaimed softly, turning to Bill. “Helena’s . . . why she’s positively breath-taking.”
He squeezed her arm. “Thank you, and yes, she is lovely looking, even though I say so myself.”
They came to a standstill at the table, and Bill said, “Mom, I’d like to introduce Vanessa Stewart. And Vanessa, this is my mother, Drucilla.”
“I’m so glad to meet you, Mrs. Fitzgerald,” Vanessa said, taking his mother’s outstretched hand.
“Hello, Miss Stewart.” Drucilla smiled at her warmly.
“Oh, Mrs. Fitzgerald, please call me Vanessa.”
“Only if you call me Dru, everyone does.”
“All right, I will. Thank you.” Vanessa looked down at the little girl dressed in a blue wool dress, who was observing her with enormous curiosity. “And you must be Helena,” she said, offering the six-year-old her hand.
“Yes, I am,” Helena said solemnly, taking her hand.
“I’m delighted to meet you, Helena,” Vanessa murmured, and seated herself in the chair Bill had pulled out for her.
“Now, what shall we have to drink?” Bill asked, looking at all of them. “How about champagne?”
“That would be nice,” Vanessa said.
“Yes, it would, Bill,” his mother agreed.
“Is this a celebration?” Helena asked, gazing up at Bill, her head on one side.
“Why do you ask that, Pumpkin?”
“Gran says champagne is only for celebrations.”
“Then it’s a celebration,” Bill responded, his love for his child spilling out of his eyes.
“And what’s this celebration?” Helena probed.
Bill thought for a moment, looked at his mother, and answered, “Being here together, the four of us. Yes, that’s what we’re celebrating, and Christmas, too, of course.”
“But I’m not allowed champagne,” Helena remarked, staring at him, then swiveling her eyes to Dru. “Am I, Gran?”
“Certainly not,” her grandmother responded firmly. “Not until you’re grown up.”
Bill said, “But you are allowed a Shirley Temple, and that’s what I’m going to order for you right now.” As he was speaking, Bill signaled to a hovering waiter, who promptly came over to the table and took the order.
Vanessa said to Dru, “It was a great idea of Bill’s to suggest coming here for lunch; it’s such a festive place.”
Dru nodded. “You’re right, it’s fabulous. Bill tells me you met in Venice. When he was there with Frank Peterson.”
“Yes . . .” Vanessa hesitated and then, noticing Bill’s beaming face, she went on more confidently, “We spent Thanksgiving together.”
“The only three Americans in Venice on that particular day,” Bill interjected. “So we had no alternative but to celebrate together. And a good time was had by all.”
“I’d like to go to Venice,” Helena announced, looking from her father to her grandmother. “Can I?”
“One day, sweetheart,” Bill said. “We’ll take you when you’re a bit older.”
“Do you work with my daddy?” Helena asked, zeroing in on Vanessa.
“No, I don’t,” Vanessa answered. “I’m not in television, Helena. I’m a glass designer.”
The child’s smooth brow furrowed. “What’s that?”
“I design objects, lovely things for the home, which are made in glass. In Venice.”
“Oh.”
Vanessa had been carrying a small shopping bag when she arrived, and this she had placed with her handbag on the floor. Now she reached for it, took out a gift tied with a large pink bow, and announced, “This is for you, Helena.”
The child took it, held it in her hands, staring at the prettily wrapped present. “What is it?”
“Something I made for you.”
“Can I open it now, Daddy?”
“Yes, but what do you say first?”
“Thank you, Vanessa.” Helena untied the ribbon, took off the paper, and then lifted the lid off the box.
“It’s quite fragile,” Vanessa warned. “Lift it out of the tissue paper gently.”
Helena did as she was bidden, held the glass object in her hands carefully, her eyes wide. It was a twisted, tubular prism that narrowed to a point. Its facets caught and held the light, reflecting the colors of the rainbow. “Oh, it’s beautiful,” the child gasped in delight.
“It’s an icicle. An icicle of many colors, and I made it specially for you, Helena.”
“Thank you,” Helena repeated, continuing to hold the icicle, moving it so that the glass caught the light.
“It is very beautiful,” Dru murmured, turning to Vanessa. “You’re a very talented artist.”
“Thank you.”
Bill said, “May I look at it, Helena?”
“Yes, Dad. Be careful. Vanessa says it’s fragile.”
“I will,” he murmured, his eyes smiling at Vanessa as he took the icicle. “This is quite wonderful,” he said, and then nodded when the waiter brought the champagne in a bucket of ice. “You can open it now, please,” he said.
After the glass icicle was returned to its box and put on the floor next to Helena’s chair, and the wine had been poured, Bill lifted his flute. “Happy Christmas, everyone.”
“Happy Christmas,” they all responded.
Helena took a sip of her Shirley Temple and put it down on the table. Turning, she stared hard at Vanessa, and, with undisguised inquisitiveness, she asked, “Are you Daddy’s girlfriend?”
Taken aback by the child’s candor, Vanessa was speechless for a moment.
Bill answered for her. “Yes, she is, Helena.” He smiled at his little daughter, then looked over her head at his mother, raising a brow eloquently.
Drucilla Fitzgerald nodded her approval. And she did approve of this pretty young woman whom she had known for only twenty minutes. There was something about Vanessa that was special; she could tell that, being the good judge of character that she was. Vanessa was to be encouraged, Dru decided. Anyone who could bring this look of happiness to her son’s face had her vote of confidence. He had been so lonely after Sylvie’s death. And morose for years. She had not seen him so buoyant, spirited, and full of good cheer for the longest time. Suddenly, she felt as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.
“Let’s order lunch,” Bill said. “Do you know what you want, Pumpkin?”
“Yes, Daddy. I’d like to have eggs with the muffin, like we did last time.”
“Eggs Benedict,” Dru clarified. “I’d love it, too, but I don’t think I’d better. Not with my cholesterol. I suppose I’ll have to settle for crab cakes.”
Bill looked at Vanessa. “Do you know what you want?”
“I’ll have the same as your mother, Bill, thank you.”
“And I’ll keep Helena company, go for the Eggs Benedict,” he said.
Helena touched Vanessa’s arm. “Are you going to marry Daddy?”
Vanessa was further startled by the child’s outspoken question, and by her precocity. She glanced swiftly at Bill.
Dru sat back in her chair, observing the three of them.
Bill grinned at Helena and said, “You ask too many questions, Pumpkin, just like Uncle Frank does sometimes. And we don’t know yet whether we’re going to get married or not . . . we need to spend more time together, get to know each other better.”
Helena nodded.
Bill went on, “But you and Gran will be the first to know if we do. I promise you.”
Later, as Bill helped Vanessa into a cab, he whispered, “Not a bad idea my kid had, eh?”
“Not a bad idea at all,” Vanessa replied.
“Take this, darling,” he said, pressing something into her hand.
“What is it?” she asked, looking down at it, realizing that it was a key. “What’s this for?”
“The suite I booked at the Plaza. For us. Suite 902. Can we meet for a drink later tonight? Say around nine?”
“But of course,” she said and slipped the key into her bag.