Scent of Triumph (44 page)

Danielle watched as Cameron gathered his sheet music. He shoved it into a large black leather valise and stooped below the plate glass window to pick up something on the floor.

He’s made remarkable progress
, she thought with a pang of guilt. Initially, the medical staff had approved of Danielle’s unusual conditions, probably due to his celebrity status, she knew. Nonetheless, it had given Cameron hope and purpose, a
raison d’être
. Everyone needed a reason to live, and music had always been Cameron’s way of communicating with the world.

An attendant arrived to escort Cameron from the recording studio for his return to the sanitarium. According to the provisions, he was to be escorted at all times, especially after his relapse a few months ago. The medical staff concurred that the recording sessions had been of enormous benefit to Cameron’s recovery. The staff had grown to love him, too. Once he began to respond to treatment, the old Cameron had emerged, as charming and fun-loving as ever. Danielle felt that the end of his confinement was near, and that this time, he’d make it. Or so she hoped.

Cameron poked his head through the door. “Hey emerald eyes, how’s Dani mine?”

Danielle smiled at his nickname for her. He’d also written and recorded a song entitled
Emerald Eyes
. She felt it was another sure hit. “Fine,” she said cordially. “You sounded marvelous, Cameron,”

He responded with a roguish grin. “Just wanted to say good-bye. Got a moment?”

“Of course, what’s on your mind?”
He’s in unusually good spirits
, she thought, genuinely happy for his progress. Rex excused himself, closing the door behind him. “Come in, Cameron.” Danielle stood to greet him.

Suddenly, Cameron dropped his valise, caught her in his arms and pressed her to him. “Just wanted to tell me darlin’, me favorite girl, that I love her dearly.”

She hesitated, uncomfortable in his embrace, then said guardedly, “And I’ve loved you, too, Cameron. In my way.”

His face brightened. “Sure and it’s good to hear those words from your lips, Dani. You’re a beautiful lady, and I thank you for what you’ve done for me. I admire you, really I do. There’s no one like you, no one who would’ve put up with me the way you did, no one who cared enough to help me.”

She cocked her head. For an instant, she thought how strange his behavior was. Then she relaxed and laughed softly. She’d been so traumatized by his former behavior that his return to normalcy caught her off guard.

“Give my love to the girls, to Liliana and Jasmin, and to your lovely mum, too. Now I understand what Marie went through with her treatment. What a grand lady she is.”

“I’ll give them your love.”
Yes, he’s the old Cameron, the one who adored and spoiled the children.
Later, she recalled, when he’d began his decline, descending into his dark abyss, it was the girls he would first appeal to after a long absence, tail between his legs, with gifts and surprises, until Danielle finally absolved him as well. Not surprisingly, the girls missed him. When he was sober, he was a barrel of fun, certainly more fun than she’d been, what with her mountain of responsibilities. But his dark side had troubled all of them.

“That’s good of you, Dani. You won’t forget, will you?” He held her even tighter, playfully tapping her nose.

“I won’t forget.”

With obvious reluctance, he released her, but he still held her hands, gently stroking them. “I’ve always loved you, Dani, to the best of my ability. As much as I could love anyone.” He paused, his dark passionate eyes searching her face. “You understand, don’t you?”

“Perfectly.”
He must know about the divorce
, she thought,
or least suspects.
This is his good-bye
. A wistfulness overtook her, a sorrow for all that had passed between them, for all that had gone so wretchedly wrong. She smiled at Cameron and gave him a light kiss on the cheek.

Cameron responded with a flare of passion, then slowly retreated, releasing first one hand, then the other. He picked up his valise, opened the door, and turned back to her, giving her one last smile, his famous smile, the grin that could light up a movie screen like fireworks, sending mothers and daughters swooning at his songs. And then he was gone.

Guilt slashed her heart as she watched him go, the sanitarium attendant close at his heels.
But I’m doing what’s best for both of us
, she told herself firmly. She had never shared with him the kind of feelings she had for Jon. And yet, Jon wasn’t the reason she was divorcing Cameron. She was doing it for her own sanity, and to provide a peaceful existence for her family. Her relationship with Jon was uncertain at best, and she didn’t want to delude herself. They might never share anything more than his last visit.

Harry appeared at the door. “Are you all right?”

She sniffed. “I’ll be fine.” Her face felt flushed. She watched Cameron disappear around a corner. A strange feeling gripped her.
Could I have loved him after all?

“Ready when you are,” Harry said gently, touching her elbow.

“I’m ready.” She cleared her prickly throat. She picked up her sketches and purse, then walked with him to his car.

“Good night, Rex,” Harry called to the sound engineer.

“Good night, Harry,” Rex replied as he loaded items into his pickup truck. “Say, you didn’t see my extension cord, did you?”

“No, can’t say that I did,” Harry replied.

“Must’ve overlooked it.” Rex walked back to the studio.

Harry turned to Danielle and put his arm around her. “Are you sure you want me to join your family for dinner tonight? You seem preoccupied. Anything wrong?”

“I’ll be fine. Cameron and I just said good-bye. Somehow, I think he knows of my plans for the divorce.” She arranged a smile on her face. “And yes, I do want you to join us for dinner tonight. My mother has been cooking all day, and she’s quite excited. You’re one of her favorite people.”

“What a coincidence, her daughter’s one of my favorite people.” Harry leaned to kiss her.

Swiftly Danielle turned her face, giving him her cheek. “Dear Harry,” she said. “We’ll be late.”

* * *

When Cameron Murphy didn’t appear for dinner, one of the attendants volunteered to track him down. Katy Gibson, a nursing school volunteer, fairly ran through the corridors, her blond hair streaming behind her. She hoped Cameron Murphy hadn’t forgotten the autographed photo he’d promised for her mother. Tomorrow was her mother’s birthday, and she had planned it as a special surprise. He was her mother’s favorite singer.

Excitedly she tapped on his door. No answer. She knocked louder. “Mr. Murphy?” she called out. “It’s me, Katy.” Silence. Gingerly she tried the knob. The door swung open.

“Are you here?” She walked in, then stopped in her tracks, happiness lighting up her face. There on the bed lay an autographed photo. Delighted that he had remembered, she picked it up. An excellent photo, it was an eight-by-ten, glossy black-and-white. He wore his famous, enchanting grin, and a sparkle shone in his eyes. His wavy black hair was picture perfect. At thirty-seven, he was at the peak of his appearance, the lines around his eyes only adding to his character.

Katy smiled. He had signed the photo on the diagonal with a great flourish in a large flowing hand, just as Katy had asked, so her mother could read it without her glasses.
To Maude, mother of the beautiful Katy
, it read. And then, remembering her mission, she swung around to continue her search for Cameron Murphy. As she did, her smile froze, and her scream reverberated through the long white corridors.

Cameron Murphy hung by the neck from an electrical extension cord wrapped around a transom window crank. And scattered beneath his feet, Hedda Hopper would later write, lay a handful of sweetly perfumed letters from his wife, yellowed with age.

Abigail sat at her modest desk at Operation Orphan Rescue headquarters on South Beverly Drive, deep in thought. It was October, 1946; a little more than a year ago the war had finally, mercifully, come to a close, first in Europe, then recently in the Pacific. Along with other courageous men and women who’d served their countries, her brother Jon had returned home to England, to Abigail’s enormous relief. It had been more than a year since she’d seen him. She’d missed his last, brief visit to Los Angeles, but she was glad that he had run into Danielle.

Around the world post-war activity reached a fever pitch. The grand ocean liners, converted for troop use during the war, were now ferrying troops home. Families were reunited, while the displaced sought refuge. The war had taken its toll on the most innocent of victims, the children. Many had no home to which to return, no family with which to be reunited.

There were so many needy children around the world and so much disorganization that everything seemed to take much longer than it should have. Their grief tore at Abigail’s heart, and though she helped them find new families, she could not alleviate the horror they had been through.

In front of Abigail loomed a tall stack of slender files of new candidates, of children available for adoption. It was a heart-wrenching task, reading their brief biographies, their diaries of anguish and suffering and loss, each one an unwilling witness to death and destruction. Abigail’s heart went out to them. Every child deserved a family.

As she sorted through the files, she made notes of each child’s age, native country, language, and religion. She noted whether the child had siblings. Whenever possible, she and her staff tried to keep siblings together. Last week they’d had the amazing good fortune to place six youngsters with three brothers and their respective wives, all of whom lived within a two-mile radius in a small town. Each couple had adopted two children. It was a miracle to keep that many siblings so close together, and she’d cried when the children met their new families.

When she opened another file, her heart lurched. Triplets. Eight years old. Almost impossible to place; she’d need another miracle. Most adoptive parents wanted babies, and hardly anyone would take three children. They would probably remain in an orphanage. She sighed. At least they would be together. She studied their photos. One girl, two boys. Alexandra, Aaron, and Aristotle. A lump formed in her throat. They looked so precious.

Birthplace: Russia.
She smiled. Lou was from Russia. She’d mention the triplets to Lou at lunch. Perhaps he’d know of a family who might be interested. She studied the photo for a moment longer, curiously drawn to the triplets. Abigail made a notation, then put the file aside and turned to another.

Lou Silverman parked his car outside of Abigail’s office. He rested his hand on the steering wheel for a moment, thinking. In business, he was a calculated risk taker. For a man accustomed to making decisions, there was one decision he’d been hesitant about making for several weeks now. Not because he wasn’t sure of his decision, but because it was so vitally important to him that he wanted to make absolutely sure he chose exactly the right time. He knew the answer he wanted, and he was willing to wait for it.

At noon, Lou got out of the car, and tapped on Abigail’s door. When she opened the door, he said, “How’s my favorite lady? Ready for lunch?”

Abigail smiled. “Sure, but there’s something I want you to see first. Do we have a moment?” Her velvet brown eyes danced with excitement.

“For you, all the time in the world.” He kissed her on the cheek and gave her a hug. “So what’s on your mind?” He cast an appreciative gaze in her direction. She wore a sleek boatneck beige dress, nipped at the waist and lean in the hips, with beige platform pumps. Surrounded as he was by aspiring starlets and demanding stars, Abigail was like a breath of fresh air.

“I have a real challenge.” Abigail perched casually on a corner of her desk, swinging a trim leg well-shaped from swimming. She picked up a file. “We have a set of triplets to place.” She went on to tell him about the Russian children. “Aren’t they darling? I thought you might know of a family among your Russian set.”

Lou picked up their photo. “Cute kids,” he said softly, then fell silent. After a long moment, he looked up. “Actually I do know of a nice couple. They’d be perfect.”

“Lou, that’s marvelous.”

“So, where are the children?”

“That’s the best part. They’re already here, at our downtown children’s home.”

“With Mrs. B.?”

“Yes, we can see them anytime.” Abigail’s face shined with excitement. “In fact, we could see them today. And you can see the work that’s been done at the home, thanks to you.”

Lou grinned. “Get your coat, gorgeous. We’re taking the afternoon off. And I brought the convertible.”

When Abigail and Lou arrived downtown at the children’s home, they could see eager faces peering from gingham curtained windows. Children aged three to twelve lived in the comfortable home. Abigail smiled and waved, and the children returned her wave.

Lou laughed. “What a welcoming committee.” He turned his gaze to Abigail, admiring her naturalness. When she was with her orphans, her entire persona changed. The mantle of the ambitious fundraiser gave way to her maternal instincts, which sent her doting and laughing and clucking and pampering. She truly loved the children, and they loved her right back. And Lou loved her for it.

“Come on,” she said, pulling him by the hand along the bricked path. “Now remember, every child gets a hug. They need love, they need to be held and made to feel secure and valued. This is most important.”

Lou saluted her. “Yes, sir,” he replied, grinning.

“And wait until you see your studio crew’s handiwork. The carpenters and electricians and painters were wonderful, and the children adore their new rooms. Come on.”

The brightly painted red door flew open and a plump, aproned woman with rosy apple cheeks stood beaming in the doorway. “Welcome,” she called out. “So glad to see you, Miss Abigail, and you, too, Mr. Lou.”

“Mrs. B.,” Abigail exclaimed, and flung her arms around the robust, middle-aged woman. Beatrice Bonnecker was a big-hearted Austrian woman, and Abigail considered herself lucky to have found her. Mrs. B., as she was known to all, held a degree in child psychology, and spoke seven languages fluently, a skill which endeared her to the children. Nothing was more comforting to a frightened, orphaned child in a strange country than to hear the familiar sound of their native tongue.