Sins of the Flesh (41 page)

Now he was toiling higher and higher, his strength leaving him rapidly. But he kept going. It was cold, so cold…his body heat was leaving him, and his wet clothes had frozen to his body. Twice he had to blink his eyes to clear his vision. He stumbled and fell, picked himself up, and stumbled again.

Snow! He looked overhead through a break in the dense pines. Black clouds scudded over the treetops. He stumbled again and was down on all fours, his hands touching something hard and cold. A log, a dead animal. When his hands brushed the snow from a once-human face, he toppled back in horror. Fearfully, he forced his hands to continue their frenzied brushing. When he saw the gaping hole in the man's chest, he turned pale. At least the man was German, thank God.

His tired eyes swept around to take stock of his position. Others had been here, many others. Mickey and the children, perhaps. It hadn't snowed for a while now, so he couldn't be that far behind them. Within seconds strength returned tenfold. Quickly he scooped snow over the corpse, then broke off a branch from the nearest tree and did his best to feather the powder around.

Satisfied at last, Reuben rose and continued on his way. If he moved quickly, the threatening snow would be at his back, just as Marcel had hoped. Someone must be praying for him. He tried to relax then, his breathing quick and deep. Despite momentary bouts of dizziness, he forced himself to climb, to put one foot in front of the other, his movements automatic, robotic.

The snow hit him like a torrent, slapping and stinging him in the face. He hunkered down into his heavy coat and kept going. Ahead lay the steepest part of the mountain, with nothing but granite rocks and boulders and snow-capped peaks in the distance.

Up, up, up, the snow thicker, the wind stronger, and still he toiled. His lungs about to burst with his exertion, he flattened himself against a solid wall of granite and tried to figure a way over the top. Close…he was so close! Somehow he
had
to scale this huge mountain of rock. A desperate plan began to form itself in his mind. He climbed a tree, slipping and sliding as he searched for footholds in the bark. Forcing his mind to blankness, he climbed out on a limb, gingerly testing the branch's sturdiness. For a moment he swayed there sickeningly, his arms and legs gripping the thick branch. Then, swallowing hard, he inched toward the end of the branch to give himself momentum—and let go, sailing gracefully through the air to land with a thump in a pile of snow that covered him from head to toe.

Gasping and cursing, he was on his feet and moving within seconds. When he glanced up another slope stared him in the face. He wanted to die in frustration, to lash out first and storm the rise like an avenging maniac with superhuman strength. How was he, a mere mortal, to climb still higher into thinner air and more snow? How had Mickey and the children done it?

How would the Germans get over it? Would they take the trouble to climb the tree, or would they think one man wasn't worth the bother? He didn't know and he didn't care.

At that moment he was no more than five hours behind Mickey and the children.

A gentle California rain had started in the middle of the night, then increased by early morning to a steady downpour, dampening Daniel's already dismal spirits. However, it would be good for the orange trees, he thought. Reuben's feathered friends would receive a good soaking, and so would their birdseed. As always when he thought of the birds and Reuben's past care of them, he felt puzzled. In his opinion, Reuben was the last person in the world to care about nature's winged friends. Of late, though, because of his life on the East Coast, he'd come to realize that there were many things about Reuben that surprised him.

Twice he'd gone up to bed and twice he'd come back downstairs. Earlier he'd unrolled the awning on the terrace, and now he watched the heavy rain, feeling miserable enough to cry or, at the very least, throw a temper tantrum.

Draining his sixth—or was it his seventh?—cup of coffee, he lit a Chesterfield from the half-empty pack and inhaled deeply. Coffee and cigarettes…he probably wouldn't be drinking so much coffee or smoking if he hadn't stopped by Nellie's room on his way downstairs at twenty minutes past four. Nellie was gone. The note she'd left said only that she'd gone home to Philippe's house because he might call in the early morning hours. Besides, she'd added, she didn't want to stay and be a burden to him with all her problems. She loved him too much for that. Then, thanking him for being a patient, wonderful father, she'd signed it, “Love always, Nellie.” Unaccountably irritated, he'd crumpled up the note and thrown it on the glass-topped table.

His thoughts turned to Jane and how upset with him she'd been. He loved her and she loved him, but here they were, fighting each other over his daughter. Yet even though he hated what he was feeling and thinking, the lawyer in him demanded proof, proof of everything that had been said.

Suddenly Daniel jumped up from his chair and ran through the house to the front door. He'd be damned if he was going to stew one more minute about all of this. Pulling on a trench coat and grabbing an umbrella, he strode to his car. He was going to Jane's house to straighten this out right now.

Instead of ringing the front doorbell or using his key, he walked around to the back of the house and peered through the kitchen door. Jane was at the stove, her back to him, frying bacon. Like him, she was in the same clothes she'd worn to his house yesterday, which meant she, too, hadn't slept. Daniel felt sick when he tapped on the pane of glass. Jane whirled, a warm smile on her lips that faded instantly when she saw who it was. Reluctantly she motioned for him to come in.

“Would you like some breakfast, Daniel?” she asked politely. “I just made coffee.”

“I'd love some.” Ill at ease, he watched her bustle about the compact kitchen. The silence between them was strained, awkward. Gone was the easy camaraderie they'd shared in the past. When he could stand it no longer, Daniel cleared his throat and began to speak.

“I…I had to come, Jane. This is too important for either of us to try to sweep under the rug. I want to know, I need to know if there is some kind of misunderstanding, something that we can all rectify without…”

“Without hurting Nellie,” she broke in, and turned to look at him. “But what about me, Daniel? Do you have any idea how I feel? Do you have any idea what you did to Bebe yesterday with…with your defense of Nellie? Good Lord, do you think we wanted to hurt you like that? The old Bebe, the Bebe you used to know, deserved those remarks, but not the Bebe of today. She was trying to do what her son wanted the only way she knew how. Daniel, I talked to that young man. I listened to him and I
heard
what he said. Neither Bebe nor I lied to you. Your daughter is doing the lying. And you know me well enough to realize I wouldn't lie to you about something this important.”

“That's why I'm here,” Daniel said carefully. “You said the option contract on
Ambrosia
is in the files and the date had been tampered with. You also said your letter of resignation was in your desk. After breakfast, I'd like to go to the studio and see them both.”

“No, Daniel,” Jane said, ladling fluffy scrambled eggs onto his plate. “My word should be all the proof you need. I won't allow you to attack my credibility. I haven't lied to you. Either you believe me or you don't.”

“My daughter…”

“Yes, I know how terrible this must be for you, but I have to do what's right for the studio, for Bebe, and for Philippe. I can't worry about Nellie.” She put the pan in the sink and sat down opposite him, her eyes troubled. “I have this feeling, Daniel, that if you go to the studio, you won't find my letter in my desk, nor will you find the original
Ambrosia
option contract. Nellie is too smart for that.”

Daniel pushed his plate away. “So what you're saying is that Nellie is a thief and a…a forger? My God, Jane, I…she's my daughter…surely you can understand why I'd go to the mat for her.”

“Yes, I do understand, and you must understand that I will do the same thing for the studio and Reuben.”

“Reuben has always loved Nellie,” Daniel said.

“Reuben loved the girl Nellie allowed him to know, just the way she allowed you to see only one side of her. She's devious and manipulative, she lies and covers it all up with her wide-eyed innocence. Bebe told me there was something, something she couldn't put her finger on the day they had their first meeting. I think Philippe realized it, too, but only after it was too late. Daniel, open your eyes. What young man would get married and leave his bride two days later when it wasn't necessary?”

Daniel shook his head. “That wasn't the reason he left. He felt guilty—conscience-stricken because his father had gone to France to find Mickey and fight the Germans while he remained here. He wanted desperately to do his part.”

“Perhaps,” Jane conceded. “But then there's the power of attorney. When Philippe realized the ramifications of giving Nellie free rein to his inheritance, he changed his mind—and because the marriage was never consummated, he doesn't owe her anything except an annulment.”

She leaned across the table. “Daniel, Philippe's fortunes…your friend Mickey secured his future,
his,
Daniel. I think she would take a dim view of Nellie helping herself at Philippe's expense. But there's no point in hashing this over again, is there? Would you like to see my letter of resignation? I brought a copy of the original home with me.” She was out of the room before Daniel could reply. When she returned she handed it to him.

Daniel read the letter and gave it back to Jane. “You could have typed this yesterday when you came home. Unless I can examine the original…”

“Damn you, Daniel, this isn't a court of law! I thought you loved me. I'm telling you the truth. I think,” she said sadly, “it would be best for all of us if you left now. I'm sorry you've been placed in a position where you have to choose sides. I just want you to know one thing: I was prepared to walk away from it all so I could keep you. I was going to let Nellie win, but I know now she would have done something, something to turn you against me, and you would have believed her. I'm glad Bebe called me, and I'm glad I had the chance to talk to Philippe. When Reuben returns I can face him with a clear conscience…. You can see yourself out now, and before you leave I'd appreciate it if you would give me back my key.”

Daniel unhooked the key from his key ring and laid it carefully on the table. He tried to see past the burning in his eyes and the lump in his throat. As he closed the door behind him, he heard Jane say, “I love you.”

He was alone again. Reuben was gone, his one true friend in the whole world. Mickey was in France trying to stay alive. Bebe had turned her back on him, and Jane…Jane was abandoning him. All he had was Nellie. The thought gave him no comfort at all.

It was eight o'clock when Daniel returned home. He showered and changed his clothes, his thoughts in a turmoil. Promptly at nine o'clock, he started making long-distance phone calls back east, confident that he would reach the two people he wanted to talk with.

The first call he placed was to St. Margaret's, where Nellie had gone to school as a child. The Mother Superior there remembered Cornelia well, and when Daniel explained that he was calling for background and information on his daughter, she did her best to comply.

“Your daughter was an exemplary student scholastically, straight A's, if I remember correctly. We don't have all that many students who excel consistently. However, Cornelia never quite fit in; she had no real friendships, and on more than one occasion we had to call your wife in for conferences.” To Daniel's growing horror, she went on to relate a series of instances where Nellie had been accused of theft, lying, and malicious mischief.

“I made a notation myself on Cornelia's records that I thought she was emotionally disturbed. On several occasions I suggested that Mrs. Bishop seek outside help for the child, but she refused.” There was a slight pause, then the Mother Superior said gently, “I thought you were aware of all this, Mr. Bishop.”

After he'd hung up, Daniel sat with his head in his hands, his chest heaving. Childhood misdemeanors…or incipient pathology?

The next call he placed was to the commanding officer at Fort Dix. When he finally got through fifteen minutes later, he was informed that there was no recruit named Philip Tarz or Philippe Bouchet at Fort Dix. Daniel swore, ripe, four-letter gutter words he'd learned in the Great War.

In a frenzy of frustration he ran up the steps and threw on whatever clothes fell into his hands. He was out of the house and in his car within fifteen minutes. But he realized then that he didn't know where he was going, if indeed he was going to drive somewhere. To Nellie's, to confront her? Back to Jane to share his information? To Bebe, perhaps? Well, Jesus Christ, he could sit here all day and play word games, he thought nastily.

At last he yanked the car into gear and drove to the studio, roaring past Eddie Savery without so much as a look. His destination—Jane's office.

A long time later Daniel decided that he would never make a detective. In his hands was the option agreement for
Ambrosia
, which he'd inspected carefully and thoroughly several times. The dates were typed cleanly, with no trace of an erasure. He didn't know whether he felt relieved or depressed. The clean copy proved that the dates hadn't been changed and the signatures on the last page hadn't been tampered with. Jane must have made a mistake or lied to him, it was that simple. Nellie was in the clear. Next, he picked the lock on Jane's desk, careful not to disturb her possessions. There was no sign of her resignation letter. Again, that made Jane a liar and Nellie innocent. Perhaps Jane had simply overreacted to Nellie's intelligence, her youth, and her prettiness. But it was too late now for explanations; too much damage had been done. Nellie would always be between them.

There was still the matter of Philippe and Fort Dix. If the boy wasn't at Fort Dix, where the hell was he? Had he simply pretended to enlist to escape his marriage to Nellie? If so, why go to Bebe? Maybe she'd misunderstood—maybe he'd gone somewhere else.

Philippe's bankers in New York might know where he was. Certainly he would have notified them; he was that kind of young man. Within minutes Daniel was speaking with Silas Goodwin, who informed him that the Morgan bank no longer handled Philippe Bouchet's business.

“What!” Daniel roared. Immediately he lowered his voice. “I don't understand, Mr. Goodwin. If you aren't handling Philippe's business, who is?”

“His wife, Mr. Bishop. Your daughter, I believe. I would have thought you understood and perhaps encouraged the transfer.” There was a coolness and a snideness that smacked of…Obviously the man was thinking…collusion. Daniel found himself sputtering and defending his position, trying to explain that he needed to reach Philippe.

“I hope you have more luck than I did. I tried all morning to reach the young man and couldn't. I had no other choice but to follow his wife's directive. She sent their banker here, and everything has been removed from our hands. The power of attorney was in order. I spoke to the lawyer who drew it up. Is there anything else, Mr. Bishop?”

“No. Yes! Yes, wait just a damn minute here. Are you telling me
all
of Philippe's holdings have been transferred just today?”

“Several hours ago, as a matter of fact,” Goodwin replied. “I don't mind telling you all of us here in the trust department think there is something…irregular going on, but we're powerless to do anything about it. It's impossible to reach Madame Fonsard. Your daughter is an incredibly wealthy woman, Mr. Bishop. Now, if there's nothing else, I'm due at a meeting.”

Daniel's eyes were wild as he stared around Jane's office. This was all happening too fast. One minute he was absolving Nellie and the next he felt like crucifying her. One moment he was sure Jane was an out-and-out liar and the next he knew that was impossible, because she loved him. And now this!

Daniel shook his head to clear his thoughts. What to do next, he wondered. See Nellie, confront her with everything? No, he decided, not everything.
Trap her, trick your own daughter?
His conscience pricked. “If that's the only way to get to the truth of the matter, then, yes, that's exactly what I'll do.”

 

Nellie was curled up in a chair by the front window. On the table next to her chair was a writing pad and pencil. Her banker had just called, telling her that all the transfers from Morgan had been taken care of and he was on his way back to California. She'd agreed to a meeting in his office first thing Monday morning. For over an hour she'd delighted herself with all the different numbers in Philippe's accounts, holding off on totaling them until she couldn't stand the suspense another second. When she had the grand total in front of her, she'd squealed in delight, hugging her knees.