The Price of Deception (17 page)

His carriage arrived promptly at 9:30, and Robert
instructed the driver to proceed to Suzette’s residence and stop a
few houses before the address and wait. Precisely at 10 o’clock, a
public cab arrived. Robert caught a glimpse of his petite French
mademoiselle when she climbed inside. The expanse between them made
it impossible to see her facial features, but the sight of her
brought a smile to his apprehensive face.

As her driver proceeded toward the cemetery, they
followed behind at a reasonable distance. Robert instructed the
driver to pass Suzette’s cab, which had stopped at the entrance.
They turned the corner at the next block. He waited a few minutes
and gave Suzette time to exit and proceed toward the ossuary. A
nearby groundskeeper pointed him in the right direction, and he
made his way along the same pathway.

The day, overcast and gray, added to the ominous
atmosphere of the cemetery. It reminded him of his father’s death,
which brought a fleeting emotion of buried grief to the surface. He
eyed the lavish statues and crypts that lined the lane. It appeared
quite unlike English cemeteries that were adorned with simple grave
markers.

Robert slowed his pace as he approached the ossuary
off in the distance. His eyes fell upon the woman he loved who
stood before the sad tomb. Suzette, clothed in a dark blue gown and
wrapped in a knit shawl, wore a hat that set off the color of her
unmistakable auburn tresses. He stopped for a moment and feasted on
the vision of her form. Powerful emotions of affection resurfaced
from deep within Robert’s heart.

He heard her speak, then slowly and quietly inched
his way closer until he stood twenty feet behind her body. Robert
strained to hear every word that proceeded from her lips, which
conveyed her deepest thoughts to her dead father. His intrusion
over the moment of private intimacy between a father and daughter
pained him. However, when he heard her confessions about their son
and that she had loved him, Robert could no longer remain
silent.

Her name slipped from his lips practically in a
whisper; but as soon as it did, he knew that she heard him. Her
voice halted, and her figure did not move. He said it again louder,
and then she spun around to face him and gasped at the sight.

Robert took one step forward and stopped abruptly. In
desperation, he attempted to restrain himself from the urge to
embrace her body.

“Oh, my God,” she cried aloud, clearly in shock.
“Robert what—what are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” he repeated. “Oh, Suzette, my
darling. I came to see you.”

Suzette stumbled in her stance. Robert quickly
stepped forward and gently, but firmly, grasped her forearm to
steady her balance. The blood drained from her face.

“I don’t mean to upset you.”

She grasped his arm in return and clung to him for
stability. Her shock pained Robert, but even more so as he saw
something in her eyes—a sad resignation.

“Are you all right?” He tilted his head and looked to
her for affirmation that her heart still beat, worried that she
would faint.

“Yes,” she sputtered, “I’m fine. You just surprised
me, Robert. I wasn’t expecting to see you here of all places.”

Robert lifted his hand and let his knuckles slide
down the smooth surface of her right cheek. At first she flinched
at his touch, but as he continued to graze along the line of her
jaw, she closed her eyes.

“I thought you died.” Troubled, he pulled away from
her flawless complexion, but still held her arm tightly. “Your
husband told me that you had died; and when he did, I died.”

Suzette lifted her eyes and looked at him with
remorse. “Robert, I . . .”

“Not here.” He stopped her words with the touch of
his index finger on her lips. “I don’t wish to talk here among the
dead, Suzette. My carriage is waiting just outside the entrance.
Will you come with me so that we can talk?”

“Come where?”

“To a place more private.”

“It wouldn't be proper for me to leave with you,”
Suzette objected. “I’m a married woman and you a married man.”

Robert dismissed her reasoning. “And you are the
mother of my son. Let us not talk about what is proper,
Suzette.”

A tiny teardrop trickled down her check, mingled with
the rain that had begun to fall more intensely. Her eyes begged him
not ask, but Robert intended to seek out the truth, even if she
insisted on silence.

“Please,” he persisted. He ran his fingers down her
forearm to her hand and grasped her flesh in his. “You owe me the
truth.”

The touch of her bare skin, when they united palm to
palm, ignited the flames of his love. With a slight tug of her hand
in his, he took a step away from the ossuary.

“Where are we going?”

“A place where we will not be seen or heard, I assure
you.”

Robert took another step. Suzette resisted, then
relented and followed him as he led the way. With a firm grip on
her hand, Robert looked into her frightened eyes that were so
reminiscent of the first time they met.

“I’m not angry, Suzette. I won't hurt you. I
promise.”

“You have every right to be angry with me,” she
countered, as she lowered her head.

Robert said nothing, but led her in silence to his
waiting carriage outside the cemetery entrance. He helped Suzette
inside and then gave the driver the destination.

“Pull in through the alley in the back and drop us
there,” he instructed.

Robert climbed inside, closed the door, and sat in
the seat across from Suzette. The coach jerked forward. Suzette sat
awkwardly across from him avoiding his eyes.

“It’s been a long time, Suzette. It is so good to see
you.” He paused and then leaned forward in his seat and grasped
both her hands in his—they were like ice. “You have no idea the
grief I felt when Philippe told me you were dead. Why would he do
such a thing?”

Suzette finally lifted her head and looked forlornly
into Robert’s eyes.

“Philippe only wished to protect me. He is, after
all, my husband and feared for some time that our paths might cross
one day.”

Robert let go of Suzette’s hands and leaned back into
the seat. He had hoped that upon their reunion, she would display
more affection toward him. Instead, she defended her husband.
Robert hated the crude reminder of her matrimonial bond. Had she
not just confessed to her dead father that she had once loved him?
Had the flame died in her heart? The thought cloaked Robert in
anguish.

The carriage slowed as it turned in behind a row of
expensive townhouses and then came to a stop.

“Where are we?” Suzette peered quizzically out the
window.

“This is my townhouse.”

“Your townhouse? Robert, you cannot be
serious! What if someone sees us together? Don’t bring me
into your home!”

“There is no one there, Suzette. I’m staying in
a hotel right now, and the townhouse has been closed for months. My
family is in England, and I am here alone. The servants have been
let go for the season, as well.”

The driver jumped down and opened the door. Robert
exited and paid the fare. “Return in one hour to pick us up,
and I’ll give you an extra tip.”

“Thank you, Monsieur. One hour,” he repeated, as he
tipped his hat.

Robert offered his gloved hand and carefully assisted
Suzette out of the carriage. “Come with me, sweetheart.”

The horses trotted away, just as the heavens opened
and a downpour of rain fell upon their heads. He quickly opened the
wrought-iron gate into the back gardens and led Suzette to the
servant’s entrance. After a quick insertion of his key into the
lock, he pushed open the door and held out his hand for Suzette to
enter before him.

“As you can see, everything has been closed for some
time. The furniture is covered, and the drapes are all drawn shut.
I apologize for the cold chill and dark surroundings.”

They walked down a hallway and turned to the left.
Robert opened two French doors that led into a large parlor. He
went straight toward the window and shoved open the heavy brocade
draperies. The scant, gloomy light from outdoors lightened the
room. The sky had opened its floodgates, and heavy beads of rain
pounded against the glass with a
tap-tap-tap
.

“Are you warm enough, Suzette? I could start a
fire.”

“No, I’m fine. I have my shawl.” She pulled it around
her shoulders tightly.

“Then at least let me get you a drink of brandy to
warm you up. I’m sure I can find some glasses and spirits in the
kitchen. I’ll be right back.”

Robert saw that Suzette looked like a lost puppy,
afraid to move about in her unfamiliar location. He realized her
uneasiness, but couldn’t take the risk of being seen together at
the hotel. If he escorted a married woman to his room alone, it
would certainly cause a stir should either of them be recognized.
In contrast, his closed townhouse, through the servant’s entrance,
would carry little risk of discovery. Most of the residences in his
neighborhood were temporary townhouses for aristocrats who came to
Paris on holiday.

“
Make yourself at
home.”

He turned and headed to the kitchen and found two
glasses in a cupboard, along with a bottle of brandy. Robert poured
a liberal amount of the libation and returned. When he entered the
parlor, he saw Suzette looking at an oil canvas on the wall by
Pierre-Auguste
Renoir
.
The recent painting of a mother
and her little girl, entitled
On the Terrace,
had been
purchased by Robert for his wife
.
His townhouse had also
felt the decorating hand of Jacquelyn, with its expensive fine art
and furnishings.

“My wife is particularly fond of that scene.” His
comment ended the uncomfortable silence between them.

Suzette turned around and looked at him. “I’ve heard
of Renoir, but have never seen his work. It’s quite stunning. The
colors are so brilliant.”

"Here.” He handed her a glass, which she quickly took
from his hand. Robert walked over and pulled the white sheet off of
the divan and flung it onto the floor.

“Come and sit with me, please.” Robert patted the
seat and waited for her to sit next to him.

Suzette studied him closely. She appeared to be
taking the opportunity to observe how the years had changed him, as
well. His roguish boyhood was gone, and Robert knew that she saw
more of a man before her now. Life had altered both of them. Even
Suzette looked more mature and womanly in her demeanor.

Robert smiled. He tried to soothe her nervous
tension, but found it impossible to delay his curiosity.

“You must know that I want an answer about the boy.”
He hesitated for a moment while he looked intently into her eyes.
“He is my son, isn’t he?”

Suzette’s eyes darted away, and she hesitated. It
disturbed Robert that she did not immediately respond.

“Don’t lie to me. I’ve seen his birth record. The boy
was conceived before Philippe took you from me.”

She nervously fidgeted with the glass in her hand.
“He didn’t take me from you, Robert. I left you. Don’t you
remember?”

“How could I forget? The words you spoke pierced my
heart, but I did not believe them. You lied,” he emphasized
sharply, to impart his pain. “You didn’t love him. Admit it,
Suzette.”

“What does that matter now, whether I loved him or
not? You were married to another and didn’t even tell me! I
felt betrayed and used by you when Philippe revealed to me your
marriage. Did you ever stop to think of that?”

Suzette’s face contorted into a hurtful pout. He had
never seen her in such a state, as their emotions clashed against
each other like the waves of a stormy ocean that beat upon a rocky
crag. The raw wounds that had festered for years beneath the
surface reopened.

“When I came to see you the last time, it was for the
single purpose of releasing you from your obligation to me. I would
have gladly kept you by my side, Suzette, through eternity had it
been in my power to do so.”

He reached over, picked up her soft hand, and stroked
it ardently. “I came to tell you the truth, because Philippe had
demanded that I let you go. He said you deserved a life of
respectability, and I could not deny that was true. I told him then
that I loved you, as I love you now.”

He squeezed her hand in frustration. “But all the
while he demanded I release you, he knew that you carried my child!
Don’t talk of betrayal to me,” he heaved. “I’ve suffered at your
hand, as well.”

Robert dropped his tight grip, then brought his drink
to his lips and downed the liquid. It streamed down his throat in
one burning gush. He didn’t care, for his declaration of love had
burned his soul when it left his lips. He studied Suzette for an
ounce of remorse, but could not discern anything from her pale and
unresponsive demeanor.

“I loved you, Suzette, but it was too late for me to
do anything about it. I was bound by my promises to my dying
father to marry another. Now, I am trapped in a loveless marriage,
while I languish every waking moment over what I lost.”

He closed his eyelids and inhaled a deep breath
before he continued to pressure her for a confession. “At this
instant, speak to me the truth. No more lies. Tell me that boy is
my son. I want to hear the confirmation from your own voice.”

Robert saw Suzette’s old nervous habit of her bobbing
knees reacting to the strain of the moment. Her hands started to
tremble, too, but her silence persisted. Finally, Suzette’s lower
lip quivered and she spoke.

“Yes, he is your son. You have a son—Robert
Philippe Moreau.”

“You mean Robert Philippe Holland,” he corrected her
sternly.

“What does it matter? Surely, by now you have
children of your own?”