won't let her, he thought to himself. “Have you tried to get her up?”
“Si. Ogni ora. Every hour. But she doesn't get up. She doesn't listen. She does nothing. She is sick.”
“Have you called the doctor?”
“She's not sick like that. She is sick for you, Maggiore.” He was sick for her, and the damn crazy girl had refused to marry him because of her silly notions of protecting him, and now they were up the creek. “What can we do?”
He narrowed his eyes and stared out at the December rain. “Get her to the phone. I want to talk to her.”
“She no come.” Marcella looked more worried again. “Yesterday when you call, she no come.”
“Tonight when I call, you get her to the phone, Marcella, if you have to drag her.” He silently cursed the fact that there was no phone in the servants' rooms. “I want to talk to her.”
“Ecco. Va bene.”
“Can you do it?”
“I do it. You go to Umbría to find her, now I got to bring her to the phone. Facciamo miracoli insieme.” She grinned in her half-toothless smile. She had just told him that they made miracles together. And it was going to take a miracle to get Serena out of her bed.
“See if you can't get her up for a few minutes first. Otherwise she'll be too weak. Wait a minute.” He thought for a moment. “I have an idea. There's no one in the guest bedroom right now, is there?” Marcella thought for a minute and shook her head.
“Nessuno, Maggiore.” No one.
“Good. I'll take care of everything.”
“You're going to put her in there?” Marcella sounded stunned. Whatever her lineage and her title, Serena was after all just an employee now at the palazzo, and a lowly one at that. No matter that she had been occupying the major's bed for all these months, that was different from moving her into one of the guest rooms, like a VIP guest. Marcella was afraid there might be trouble.
“I'm going to put her in there, Marcella, whether she likes it or not. Get me Palmers. I'm going to have him carry her up there as soon as you get her ready. And an hour from now”—he looked at his watch—”I'll put through a call.”
“What will I tell Sergeant Palmers?”
“I'll tell him, we can say that she is very ill and we're afraid of pneumonia, that it's too damp for her where you are, and I'm ordering all of you to bring her upstairs.”
“What do we do when the new Maggiore arrives?”
“Marcella …” He didn't dare say what he was thinking. “Never mind that. Get Palmers, I want to talk to him now. You go to Serena and get her ready.”
“Yes, Maggiore.” Marcella blew him a kiss. “I love you, Maggiore. If she won't marry you, I will.”
He chuckled at his end. “Marcella, you're on.”
Just as he had known once he had seen Pattie that he knew what he wanted to do, now he knew also that all along Serena had been wrong. She was not only wrong for him, she was wrong for herself, and he wasn't going to let her do this to either of them. As he gave his orders to Palmers he was aware of an iron resolve. And if he couldn't talk sense into her over the phone, he was going to Rome. He'd go AWOL if he had to, and talk his way out of it when he got back. But before he did anything that drastic, he spoke to the military operator an hour later and had her place the call to Rome. He had already arranged with Palmers for the phone to be pulled into the guest room, and when it rang, first Palmers answered, then Marcella, then he could hear sounds of movement, of shuffling noises, muted voices, a door closing, and then in barely more than a whisper he heard her thready little voice.
“Brad? What is this? What happened? They carried me out of my room.”
“Good. That's what I told them to do. Now I want you to listen to me, Serena. And I'm not going to listen to you anymore. I love you. I want you to marry me. What you've done is killing us both. You're willing yourself to die, and I feel as though I died when I left Rome. This is crazy … crazy, do you hear me? I love you. Now, for chrissake, woman, will you come to your senses and come