Scent of Triumph (46 page)

“Thanks, Mama,” chorused Jasmin and Liliana, who were sprawled on the sofas absorbed in schoolwork. At eleven years old, Liliana was excelling in sixth grade, and at six years old, Jasmin was starting first grade.

Marie sat erect in a brocade wing back chair with her knitting on her lap, her needles clicking softly. She hummed along with the Vivaldi concerto record on the phonograph as she worked. “I’d forgotten how nice a fire is, Danielle. It reminds me of the library of our home in Paris,
n’est-ce pas
?”

“
Oui, Maman
.” Danielle touched a match to wood chips and fanned the flames, blowing on the flickering fire.
Paris—what a long time ago, so many lost.
She shook the memory from her head. She and Marie had decided they would only speak of the good times. She smiled at her mother. “It smells like Paris in the autumn.”

Danielle loved the fiery, musty aroma. She curled her legs beneath her, watching as the logs sputtered and sizzled, then caught the flame. “Speaking of France, have you heard from Philippe lately?”

“Oh yes,” Marie said. “I received a letter from him today. He wrote that the first full year’s harvest since Victory Day went quite well, and he is enjoying tending to the farm again. He sends his love.” She paused and tilted her head. “He sounds happy.”

Danielle smiled in satisfaction. Philippe had been writing regularly since the liberation of France. In an odd way, he seemed to miss the excitement of his Resistance work. “Is he still planning to visit us next year?”

Marie smiled. “
Mais oui,
ma chère
, I insisted. The girls should visit him in Grasse sometime, too. To see the perfumery and farm.”

Danielle didn’t reply; between Max’s death and Jasmin’s birth, her last memories of Grasse were bittersweet. She coaxed the fire to a bright blaze, brushed wood particles from her hands and black wool slacks, and returned to her desk. She sat down, opened a box of creamy white Crane stationary, and began to write the last of her thank-you notes. So many kindnesses had been extended to her and her family in the months since Cameron’s death in the summer.

The funeral had been private. But outside of the chapel there were thousands of fans, and their outpouring of grief and affection for their beloved Cameron was overwhelming. Troubled and haunted though he was, he had inspired the love of millions through his unforgettable melodies.

Danielle folded a penned note, slipped it into an envelope, and sighed. She felt a strange relief for him that he’d finally escaped his self-imposed prison of addiction.

Since his suicide, his record sales had soared, and when National Music released his last album, it raced to the top of the charts. Two of his singles,
Perfumed Letters
and
Emerald Eyes,
held the number one and two positions on the top ten list.

Danielle could no longer bear to listen to the radio. Hearing his songs stirred in her an avalanche of emotion, of sorrow for the loss of such a great talent, of regret for her inability to save him, and worst of all, of guilt for her failure to help him when he needed her the most.

She put her pen down and stretched her fingers, watching as the crackling fire threw dancing shadows on the mahogany-paneled walls. A burning log rolled from the top of the heap, sending up a shower of embers.

Marie cleared her throat and everyone looked up. “I think we should all go to England for Abigail and Lou’s wedding. What better way to spend the holidays? We can ring in the New Year with a fresh start, and put this year well behind us.”

Jasmin and Liliana looked expectantly at Danielle, their faces brightening, but Danielle shook her head. “No, I’ve too much to do.”

The two girls threw pleading glances at their grandmother.

“Harry can certainly manage the business while you’re gone.”

At the mention of Harry’s name, Danielle stiffened. He’d been wonderful after Cameron’s death, helping her sort through Cameron’s personal effects and taking care of business matters. But when Harry proposed again, Danielle had rebuffed him so completely that he’d made himself scarce ever since. She was brutally honest with him. She told him she respected and valued his business acumen, but she couldn’t love him as a spouse.

At the office he was cordial and efficient, but his regular visits to her home ceased. Not that she blamed him. Since then, he’d been courting Clara. She was truly glad for them, though she missed Harry’s attention and their close camaraderie.

Marie continued. “It’s your responsibility to maintain the girls’ connection to European culture. It would be good for them to travel—they’ve become so Americanized. And Abigail has asked you to be her matron of honor. If I were you, I’d hate to miss it.”

“Oh yes, Mama, please, we’d love to go,” the girls added.

Danielle sealed the last letter, then looked up, surveying her family.
The trip would be nice
, she thought. She had designed Abigail’s wedding gown, and the happy couple had pleaded with her to join them in England for their Christmas wedding. She was disappointing everyone, but she had her reasons. “I’m sorry, darlings, we just can’t.”

Crestfallen, Liliana’s shoulders sagged, while Jasmin stuck out her lower lip.

Marie pursed her lips. “Then we’ll go without you.”

Danielle stared at her mother. “You couldn’t possibly make that trip alone.”

“Alone?” Marie replied with a lilting laugh. “We’d be with Abigail and Lou, and their friends. Don’t forget I’ve traveled the world, and though it may have been some time ago, I believe I can still manage quite nicely on my own.”

The girls stared wide-eyed at their grandmother, holding their breath.

“But Maman–” Danielle stopped herself. She was still accustomed to protecting her mother, despite Marie’s complete recovery.

Marie stood. “I’ll take the girls with me. If you change your mind, you’re welcome to come along. Otherwise, I’m sure you’ll have a nice holiday here without us. You can catch up on your very important work,” she added pointedly.

Danielle waved her hand in resignation. “Go ahead.”

Jasmin squealed and began to jump on the sofa; Liliana clapped her hands with glee and sang out, “We’re going, we’re really going!”

“That’s right,” Marie said, smiling. “Come now, bath time.” As she herded the happy girls from the room, Marie turned to Danielle and gave her a piercing glare, her voice dropping a notch. “I imagine you’d rather work anyway, so you don’t have to think about anyone else.” She paused. “And you know exactly which Englishman I’m referring to.” Then she gathered her long skirt and swished regally from the room, the girls clambering up the staircase before her.

Danielle’s jaw dropped. How had her mother suspected?
Why, she’s never even met Jon.
She rose and crossed to the bar, and poured a crystal balloon of cognac, her hands quivering. She usually drank her cognac slowly, reveling in its rich aroma, but not tonight. She tossed the golden liquid down her throat, grateful for the burn, then filled the glass again.

Everyone had adored Cameron, and Danielle was truly thankful for all he had done for them. She found some solace in knowing that she had been a good wife to him. She’d been faithful, thrifty, industrious, and caring. She had protected him to the best of her ability. But in the end, he had failed them all, even himself.

What a difference a few days would have made,
she thought, her heart heavy.
What if Jon had returned before I married Cameron?

At the sound of her mother’s heels on the hardwood landing above, Danielle glanced up, suddenly aware that Marie had been watching her. She put her glass down and shoved it away.

* * *

After several days, Danielle finally acquiesced to her family’s pleas. They planned to leave for England the day after Thanksgiving, so Danielle began to prepare for the journey.

Shivering against the cool evening air, Danielle went to the basement to get some sweaters she’d stored in trunks. She planned to shop for more winter clothing when they arrived in London, for it was hard to find winter woolens in temperate Southern California. Her seamstress had prepared traveling coats and holiday dresses for the girls, but they had no time for anything else.

She removed a few sweaters, closed the trunk, then spied another trunk, its label cracked and yellowed with age. Dusting the trunk off, she opened it, and her gaze fell on a long-forgotten photo album.

She lifted it gently, and as she did, a photo of Nicky and Sofia fell out. She picked it up and ran her finger over it, tracing their faces. July 1939. A photo taken just weeks before she and Max had sailed to New York.
Our precious Nicky. And dear Sofia.
Her pain had been so acute, she’d never been able to display these family photos in their home. She wiped her moist eyes, and returned the photo to its place.

She turned the page, glancing at the few family photos she’d quickly stashed in a bag as they’d fled Paris so many years ago. Her father, Jean-Claude, and Hélène. Max, in their wedding photos. She swallowed hard.

She mourned them all, but especially her darling little Nicky.
I should never have left him.
For all her efforts, she’d been unable to find him, unable to save him.

When the war ended, she asked Jean-Claude’s former colleagues to search for Nicky in Poland, and they had, but unfortunately, they had found nothing. Her throat tightening, she closed her eyes and pictured him again. Nicky still lived in her heart. She smiled sadly. And he always would.
But perhaps it’s time I put him to rest.

She opened her eyes and turned the page. A photo from her first Atlantic crossing stared up at her, and she felt her eyes mist. She remembered posting it to Marie from New York. She stood between Max and Jon aboard the
Newell-Grey Explorer
.
We looked so excited, so full of promise
, she thought
. But how the
world changed us.

She looked at Jon and her heart sank.
My poor Jon, what a tragic predicament.
He had returned home to find his wife pregnant with another man’s child.

Danielle touched her lips and closed her eyes; she still tasted his kiss, felt his caress. Since his last visit, she had received only one brief letter from him.
You are my heart, you are my soul,
he had written. Beautiful words, but no promise of fulfillment. Months had passed now, and though a part of her had held out hope, she had come to realize that he would not break his vows to Victoria.
Nor should he
, Danielle thought.

Opening her eyes, she closed the album, and resolved to keep her distance from Jon and Victoria at the wedding.
And that’s all there is to it,
she thought as she put the trunk away.

She gathered her bundle of sweaters, closed the basement door firmly behind her, and climbed the stairs, thinking of the trip.

Harry would look after business in her absence. Indeed, her companies were thriving in the post-war economy. She had created a new line of perfumes, while clothing and accessories sales surged from pent-up demand. National Music had signed several popular recording artists who’d returned from the war. Now, as she thought about Harry and Clara dating, she decided it was a good match. She made a mental note to tell him so.

She reached the top of the stairway, and handed the clothes to her maid. “Thank you, Nora, for your help in packing.”

“Not at all, ma’am. I’m so excited to be going with you. Will there be anything else tonight?”

“No, thank you.” After Nora closed the door behind her, she went the window and looked out at the starry night sky. Once again, thoughts of Jon intruded. She still remembered how his skin had felt under her touch, the warmth of his breath between her breasts, the feel of him within her.

He had seemed so certain of their future then, but now she realized their future would never be. She felt her chest constrict, but she knew there was only one solution.
All of these memories,
she thought,
they’re just too painful to carry with me.
She shook her head, determined to make a resolution.
It’s time I stopped living in the past.

Early the next morning after Thanksgiving, Danielle and her family met Lou and Abigail and the triplets at the Los Angeles train station. Lou had engaged a handsomely appointed private rail car to take the entire entourage to New York, where they boarded a Newell-Grey ship bound for England. After having served as a troop ship for years during the war, the grand ship had been recently restored to its former grandeur.

Abigail and Lou organized afternoon promenades, cocktail parties, and card games for everyone in the wedding party. Dinners were lively with spirited conversation, excellent food from a world-renowned French chef, and formal attire
de rigueur
.

Danielle was enjoying the crossing. Still, she retired early and rose every morning to devote several hours to work. She sketched new perfume bottle designs, revamped the company strategy, set goals for the coming year, and attended to a myriad of details.

This morning, she was reviewing Harry’s daily cabled report on Bretancourt Holdings, as she did every morning. She glanced at the clock; it was nearly noon. She always completed her work before lunch so she could spend the rest of the day with her family and friends.

Danielle made final notes to wire to Harry. She put her pen down and rang for the steward. To her genuine surprise, she found herself at ease with her comparatively leisurely schedule. It was part of her new resolution to live in the present.

She glanced at her calendar. They were just two days from England now. She had even resigned herself to seeing Jon and his wife.
I’ll be perfectly cordial,
she thought, arranging a smile on her face.
I’ll simply keep my distance from Jon.
After the wedding and Christmas and New Year’s day, she’d be back on the ship, bound for home.

A soft tap sounded on the door. She opened the door, handed the wire to the steward, slipped on her coat, then closed the stateroom door behind her and started off to meet the others.