desk and looked over a last cup of tea at Axelle. “What will I do with myself every day?”
The older woman laughed. “Why don't you go home and have a baby?”
Zoya shook her head, wishing she could stay, but Simon wanted her to have the freedom she hadn't had in years. She had been working for seven years and there was no need for her to now. She could enjoy her children, her husband, their home, and indulge herself, but Zoya thought it all sounded very dull without the shop to come to every day. “You sound like my husband.”
“He's right.”
“I'll be so bored without work.”
“I doubt that very much, my dear.” But there were tears in Axelle's eyes when Simon picked Zoya up that afternoon, and the two women embraced. Zoya promised to drop by the next day and take her to lunch.
Simon laughed and warned the woman who had championed their romance from the first. “You're going to have to lock the doors to keep her out of here. I keep telling her there's a whole world out there for her to discover.” But by October she found that she had more free time on her hands than she knew what to do with. She visited Axelle almost every day, went to museums, picked Sasha up at school. She even dropped in on Simon at his office frequently, and listened avidly to his plans for his business. He had decided to add a line of children's coats, and he was anxious for her advice, which she gave him. Her unfailing sense of style helped him make interesting choices that otherwise he wouldn't have thought of.
“Simon, I miss it all so much,” she confessed in December, as they took a taxi home from the theater. He had taken her to the opening of You Can't Take It With You with Frank Conlan and Josephine Hull at the Booth Theater. It had been an enjoyable evening, but she was restless and bored. She had discovered that she had worked for too many years to give it up and sit home and do nothing. “What if I go back to Axelle's for a little while?”
He thought about it, and then looked at her as they arrived at the apartment. “Sometimes it's hard to step back in time, sweetheart. Why don't you do something new?” Like what, she asked herself. All she knew was dancing and dresses, and dancing was certainly out of the question. She laughed to herself as they walked into the apartment, and he turned to look at her. She was so beautiful with her creamy skin and brilliant eyes and bright red hair. She still looked like a young girl and the sight of her always filled him with desire. She didn't look old enough to have a fifteen-year-old son, as she sat down in a chair and laughed as she looked up at him, handsome in the dinner jacket he wore. He had had it made in London, much to his mother's disgust. “Your father could have made you one better.”
“What's funny?”
“Just a crazy thought … I was remembering when I danced at Fitzhugh's. It was so awful, Simon. … I hated it so much.”
“Somehow I can't quite see you, shaking your bottom and swinging your pearls,” he laughed at the vision but his heart went out to her too. She had been so brave through all that she'd been through. He was only sorry he hadn't known her then. He would have married her and saved her from all that. She didn't need saving now, she was capable and strong. He was almost tempted to take her into his business with him, but knew his family would have been horrified. She didn't belong on Seventh Avenue. She belonged in a far more elite world, and then suddenly he had a thought. He poured himself a glass of cognac, and opened a bottle of champagne for her as they sat by the fire and talked. “Why don't you open your own shop?”
“Like Axelle's?” She looked intrigued, but she liked the idea, and then she thought of her friend and shook her head. “That wouldn't be fair to Axelle. I don't want to compete with her.” Axelle had been too good to her to hurt her now, but Simon had other ideas in mind.
“Then do something different.”
“Like what?”
“Do everything, women's wear, men's, maybe even some children's. But only the best, all that stuff you do so well. A