Aubrielle's Call (11 page)

CHAPTER 17

Aubrielle paced down the hallway from kitchen to living room for the third time. “If he doesn’t come tonight, I don’t know what I’ll do,” she said to Mae over her shoulder.

“He’ll be here,” Mae called from the kitchen. “The snow may have caused him some delay.”

Aubrielle stopped in the passage and closed her eyes.

He meant to kiss me—I know he did.

Her fingers gently played across her parted lips.

What would it be like to have John’s mouth touch mine?

She was no wanton. Henri had tried to kiss her at least a dozen times this year. She had always pushed him away or turned her head aside
.
Her other hand brushed her breast, and her nipple tightened. She gasped softly at the sensation, and her eyes sprang open.

In the kitchen, Mae hummed a cheerful Irish song while she cooked.

Aubrielle rubbed her forearms and continued into the living room. She paused beside her father seated in the living room chair. “Papa?” Thoughts of John fled for the moment, and she touched her father’s shoulder.

His hands trembled as they rested on his knees. He sat hunched forward, his back muscles taut, unable to relax and murmured to himself as though in a trance. He didn’t acknowledge Aubrielle’s touch.

She crossed her arms and retraced her steps to the kitchen. “I’ll set the table.” The dishes and silver sat ready on the counter across from the stove.

Had John intended to kiss me?

Heat infused her face, and she fumbled the utensils, dropping them onto her mother’s fine china. “
Merde!
”

“Here now.” Mae turned from the stove. “Settle your nerves, darlin’. I’ll set the table.”

“
Non, non
. It is fine. Nothing’s broken.”

A short tap on the back door caused Aubrielle to turn on her heel and bump against Mae.

“Brie!” Mae exclaimed with a chuckle and clutched Aubrielle’s arm.

Her face heated again at the knowing look in
Tante
Mae’s eyes, but Aubrielle’s lips curled into a grin to match Mae’s, and she gave a nervous laughed.

“That’s better, now take a breath. No need to rush.” Mae took the silverware from Aubrielle’s hands. “Go on then. Answer the door.”

Aubrielle straightened her skirt and touched her curls.

“You look grand.” Mae turned back to the stove. “Take him to the living room and talk with your Papa while I finish up.”

Although she hurried from the kitchen, Aubrielle rested her hand on the door for a moment before turning the handle.

He wants to kiss me.

Her stomach fluttered.

If he tries again, I will let him.

She struggled to quell her excited smile and opened the door.

“Henri?”
No, no, no.
Her eyes scanned the
ruelle
behind the unexpected arrival and caught a glimpse of John as he rounded the corner. “What a surprise.”

“
Bonjour,
Aubrielle.” Henri’s smile showed a dimple in each cheek. “How are you feeling today?” His eyes narrowed as he studied her. “I hope I haven’t arrived at an inopportune time.”

“Not at all,” Aubrielle muttered as she stretched to look past Henri’s shoulder. “I’m feeling much better.
Merci.
”

John slowed to a stop as he entered the back gate. One hand held a bottle of wine. His gaze caught Aubrielle’s, and a single brow rose in query.

Henri spied the direction of her interest and turned. His smile faltered, and he muttered, “I see I should not have arrived unannounced.”

The aroma of
Tante
Mae’s corned beef and cabbage drifted out the door, and Henri’s stomach growled loudly.

John followed Henri’s footsteps through the dusting of snow and mounted the steps. He extended his free hand to Henri. “It appears we meet again,
monsieur
. I’m John Larson.”

“Yes. Aubrielle’s friend from the park. Henri Vogl.” Henri shook John’s hand then turned to Aubrielle. “Perhaps another time would be better.”

“Nonsense!” Mae called over Aubrielle’s shoulder. “Come in, both of you, and close the door. Dinner is ready, and there’s always room for another chair.”

Aubrielle couldn’t read the look on John’s face as she stepped back from the door. “Please, come in.”

Henri entered, grinned at Aubrielle then addressed the older woman. “Whatever you’re cooking certainly smells wonderful, Mrs. Moroney.” He pulled off his cap and trailed Mae into the kitchen.

John placed the bottle of wine in Aubrielle’s hands and closed the door. “
Monsieur
Vogl is a frequent guest in your home?”

“Only recently.” The light from the kitchen fell along the hallway, leaving the back door and cloakroom in shadow. Aubrielle pulled the bottle to her chest and held tight with both hands.

I need to see his eyes.

“I’m not sure why Henri comes here.”

“No?” John leaned close. “I could tell you why.” He shrugged his overcoat from his shoulders and removed his hat.

“Is that so?” Aubrielle gripped the bottle and tipped her head back. “I’ve even less idea why you come here.”
Stop talking
. “I’ve known Henri for many months. He’s only a friend.”

“A close friend?” John reached behind her and hung his garments on pegs. “Perhaps it is I who should leave.” Instead of backing away, he leaned forward to whisper in her hair. “Although I could never leave your side for long.”

His hushed breath beside her ear sent a shiver down her neck. She closed her eyes. “John—”

“Come. You have a guest waiting.” The weight of the wine bottle lifted from her arms, and her hand was enfolded in his. “Tonight should prove interesting.”

When they approached the kitchen’s bright light, Aubrielle pulled her hand free of John’s and lifted it to the heat in face.
Bon Dieu
!

“If you could put this platter on the trivets, I’d be much obliged.” Mae pointed to three crocheted hot pads set in the middle of the table.

Henri placed the large server of steaming corned beef, cabbage, potatoes and sweet carrots where Mae directed. As he straightened, he looked at Aubrielle and winked. “Your
Tante
is a marvelous cook.”

Mae chuckled and placed a long loaf of fresh bread on the table beside the butter. “We’ve little to spare these days, but always enough to share.” She caught Aubrielle’s stare and grinned in delight. “Go wake your Papa.” Her eyes widened as John lifted his gift. “Wine? I’m not sure this simple meal will do it justice.”

“The wine is for you, Mae. Open it or not. The decision is yours.”

“Oh, we’ll open it.” She handed John a corkscrew from the drawer. “If you would.”

Aubrielle hurried into the quiet living room. John rattled her thoughts.

Does he realize how much?

Papa’s head had tipped back, and his mouth sagged open. He emitted a brief snore.

“Papa?” She touched his shoulder, but he remained fast asleep.

Mae’s voice reached from the kitchen. “Mr. Vogl, if you would reach into the cabinet behind you, you’ll find proper glasses for the wine. Aye, those are the ones. Thank you.”

Aubrielle shook her father’s shoulder. “Papa? Dinner is ready. Are you hungry?” He had lost a lot of weight in the last few months. His frame felt of skin and bone.

He blinked his dark eyes open with a small snort and stared up at her. “
Non
. I’m not hungry, Aubrielle. Let me rest.” He closed his eyes and turned his head away.

* * *

John leaned back in his chair and swirled the Merlot in his glass as he studied Aubrielle’s other guest.

Across the table, Henri Vogl continued to eat his meal. He paid little attention to the conversation and replied only to direct questions.

He behaves likes a man half-starved rather than a hopeful suitor.

Henri’s jacket appeared sized for a smaller man—or perhaps a younger one. Though clean, the garment had seen better days.

Aubrielle told of their visit to the synagogue and her plans to celebrate Hanukkah with her father.

“Your Papa’s
menorah
is packed away with your mother’s Christmas decorations,” Mae replied.

“We haven’t—I haven’t taken those out in years.” Aubrielle shook her head. “At first, it hurt too much to look at them and know
Mama
would never see them again.”

Mae nodded. “I understand—and so would your mother.” Mae glanced at John. “You should bring those boxes in the house and go through them.”

“You’re right.” Aubrielle traced her finger around the rim of her wineglass. “I need to clean out the storage beside Éclair’s stall before we move.” She lifted her contemplation from the wine to Mae. “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“I’ve already made room for you both.” Mae laid her napkin beside her plate. “It will be best for all of us to have you close.”

“In that case, we shall move after Hanukkah. We can celebrate Christmas at your place and finish with this house and Papa’s shop by the New Year.”

The conversation paused, and John leaned forward. “So, Mr. Vogl, what type of work do you do?”

Henri waved his fork in the air. “Oh, various things. Most recently, I brokered flowers for the tourist trade. The war and winter put an end to that.” He speared a portion of corned beef in his bowl. “And you, sir? What brings you to France?”

John chuckled. “Passion’s curse.” He raised his glass with a grin. “And a tramp steamer that brought me to these shores. How long I stay remains undetermined.”

“You have loved ones in Paris, Mr. Larson?”

John pressed his lips. “So far, only a few acquaintances and some dear friends.” He raised his glass to Aubrielle and Mae.”

“And your line of work, if I may inquire?” Henri persisted.

John ran his hand along his neck. “I’ve been involved with acquisition and trade, but as you said, war and winter have dampened those ventures.” He sipped his wine, then set the long-stemmed glass on the table. “We both appear to be at loose ends, Mr. Vogl.”

“Please, call me Henri.”

“Did no one think to wake me for supper?” Lou Cohen yelled from the hallway. “
Qu'est-ce que ç'est
?
” He staggered forward, his arms flailed as he pointed at the table.

John came to his feet, as Aubrielle rounded her chair and reached for her father.

“Papa, I tried to wake you—”

“
Non!”
Lou slapped his daughter’s hand away. “
Ne me touche pas!
”

“
Monsieur
Cohen—” John stepped between Lou’s raised arm and Aubrielle.

Lou’s wild blow glanced across John’s shoulder, and he lurched into John’s chest.

John steadied the elderly man. “All is well,
Monsieur
Cohen. Try to be calm.”

Lou gasped and let his head fell back to look into John’s face. “Sir? You’ve come again?” His eyes filled with tears. “I thought you’d gone.”

Who does he think I am?

“I’m still here.” John turned slightly and saw Mae had set a clean plate at the table. “Look, Mrs. Moroney has your supper ready.”

Distracted, Lou’s interest shifted. “Oh yes.
Je vois
.”

John helped him to the table and steadied him as he took his seat.

“Here you are, Lou.” Mae placed his dinner in front of him and handed him a spoon. “I’m glad to see you’ve got your appetite back.”

Aubrielle released a small sob
She covered her mouth with both hands to silence her distress. The big brown eyes that watched her father brimmed with tears.

“Come.” John wrapped his arm around her shoulders and walked toward the living room. “He’ll be all right.” John stopped and faced Aubrielle. “Your father was only confused.”

She nodded and leaned against him as she wiped her tears. “I know. He became confused when he woke and heard strange voices.” She blinked up at John and half sobbed a chuckle. “I wonder who he thinks you are.”

John inhaled slowly to calm his pulse. The length of her body pressed against his in a familiar manner, and his body reacted.
Oh, my love.
He brushed a stray curl caught in the moisture on her cheek.

Her head tipped back to see his face. “Thank you,” she whispered. Her attention dropped to his mouth, and her lips parted.

Desire flooded John, and he fought the impulse to lower his head and capture her mouth with his. Aubrielle wanted to be kissed, and he desperately wanted to claim her lips for his own, but not here. Not now.