Zoya

She had seen Serge Obolensky there for the first time in months, and he had bowed politely when she introduced him to Simon, speaking first in English for Simon's benefit, and then chatting with him in her elegant Russian.

“I'm surprised you didn't marry him,” Simon said quietly, trying to hide the fact that he was jealous, but Zoya looked up at him and laughed as they drove home in the green Cadillac.

“Serge has never been interested in me, my love. He's too smart to marry poor old Russian titles. He likes the American socialites much better.”

Simon leaned over and kissed her as he pulled her closer to him on the seat. “He doesn't know what he's missing.”

The next day Zoya took Axelle to lunch, and talked excitedly about her plans. She had told Axelle from the first, and had told her nervously that she didn't want to compete with her directly.

“Why not?” Her friend looked at her in surprise. “Doesn't Chanel compete with Dior? And Elsa with all of them? Don't be foolish. It will be terrific for business!” Zoya hadn't thought of it that way, but she was relieved to have Axelle's blessing.

And when she saw the location Simon's friend had found, she fell in love with it on the spot. It was perfect. It had previously been a restaurant at Fifty-fourth and Fifth, and it was only three blocks from Axelle's. It was in terrible shape, but as she squinted her eyes, she knew it was just what she wanted, and better yet, the entire second floor was available just above it.

“Take them both,” Simon advised.

“You don't think it's too big?” It was huge, which was why the restaurant had failed. It had been too big for their small clientele, but Simon shook his head with his instinctive sense for what worked in business.

“You can do women's wear on the main floor, and men's upstairs, and if it works,” he winked at his friend, “we can buy the building. In fact, maybe we ought to do that right now, before they get smart and jack up the rent too high. He made a few calculations on a scratch pad and then nodded. “Go ahead, Zoya. Buy it.”

“Buy it?” She almost choked on the words. “What'li I do with the other three Boors?”

“Rent them out with one-year leases. If the store's a success, you can take back a floor every year. You might be damn glad to have five floors one day.”

“Simon, this is crazy!” But she was so excited, she could hardly stand it. She had never even dreamed of owning her own store, and suddenly there she was, in the midst of it all. They hired architects and Elsie de Wolfe, and within weeks, she was surrounded by blueprints and renderings and drawings, there were samples of marble all over her library, fabrics, wood finishes for some paneling, the whole house was in a whirl as she made her plans, and Simon finally gave her a desk in his office and a secretary of her own to handle all the details for her. Cholly Knickerbocker even mentioned it in his column, and there was an article about it in The New York Times. “Watch out, New York!” the item said, “When Zoya Ossupov, the late great Countess of Axelle's, and Simon Hirsch, with his Seventh Avenue empire, joined forces last July, they might just have started something big!” And the words were prophetic.

They sailed for Paris in March on the Normandie, to buy for Simon's lines, and to select some of the mainstays of Zoya's first collection. And this time she picked all the things she loved, without having to defer to Axelle. She had never had as much fun in her life as shopping with him, and Simon gave her an unlimited budget. They stayed at the George V, and enjoyed a few rare moments alone which were like a honeymoon for them. They arrived back in New York a month after they'd sailed, happy and refreshed and more in love than ever. Their homecoming was marred only by the news that Sasha had been expelled from school. At twelve, she was becoming a little terror.

“How did that happen, Sasha?” She spoke to the child quietly on their first night home. As he had the year before, Nicholas had come to the ship to meet them but this time in the new Duesenberg Simon had ordered before they stopped making them the year before. Nicholas had been wildly excited to see them, and then he had told Zoya the news about his sister. She had worn lipstick and nail polish to school, and she had been caught kissing one of the teachers. He had been fired summarily, and Sasha had been expelled, without hope of being reinstated. “Why?” Zoya asked again, “what could have made you do it?”