The Secret of the Villa Mimosa (32 page)

My beloved son, Jean,

It is my dearest wish that you will never read this letter, because then it means I will never know you, I will not be there to hold my baby in my arms, to watch you grow, to count your birthdays and help you climb the rocky path of life. But if I cannot be there, then when you are old enough, I want you to know the truth, about myself and about your father, Archer Kane.

First I will tell you about myself, so you may know
your mother a little better. Gossip will tell you that I was not a pretty woman. I know their mocking name for me—
la célibataire
—and though I always pretended not to care, I was hurt. I yearned to be pretty and glamorous, like the smart beauties I used to see at dinner and at the casinos and in the cafés, but they never even spoke to me. How can I explain that inside I felt beautiful? But to them I was just the plain, rich woman who never belonged. And I was lonely.

Archer Kane recognized my loneliness. He was a handsome man, as fair and golden as I was dark and sallow. He looked like a young Greek god to me, the lonely
célibataire.

He was a man who felt completely at home in the new laissez-faire atmosphere of the Riviera; there was a
loucheness
that suited him; plenty of easy women, drink, and money. But even I knew there were as many fortune hunters looking for women as there are women looking for lovers, and to capture a rich good-looking woman was often difficult. These women were older and worldly-wise, and they knew a fortune hunter when they saw one. For them an affair meant fun, a few gifts, a whiff of passion, and on to the next.

I noticed him, of course. How could I not? He was the handsome young American, always at the center of the crowd lunching on the terrace of the Hôtel de Paris, or in the cafés, or at the casino. I saw him watching me, I caught his eye every now and then, and he would always smile politely and bow his head, acknowledging my presence.

I know now that he was stalking me, that I was already marked as his victim. He was twenty-seven years old, and I was forty-one. I was uneasy with people, shy and plain. He was handsome and in with the social set, and he was said to have a big cattle ranch in Hawaii.

I knew all about him, but I had never met him, or any of his acquaintances, until he spoke to me that day. I was sitting at a Café table in Cannes, alone as always. I was wearing a wide-brimmed hat to keep the sun from my face, but also to hide my plainnesss. How can I make you understand how ashamed I was of the way I looked? The Riviera was thronged with beautiful people, all so young and slender and chic, wearing the fashionable new styles that on me looked merely clumsy and stupid.

I remember wondering how Archer had even recognized me, I was so hidden behind my big hat, but I confess I was pleased that he had. More, I was thrilled when he introduced himself and asked if he could sit with me for a while. We drank lemonade while he told me about his ranch, chatting sociably. I noticed people glance at us, and I blushed with pride that he had singled me out for his attention.

I think he knew from that first blush that I was his, but nevertheless he courted me assiduously. He invited me to dinners at the best hotels, to lunches at the beach, and to dancing at the Hôtel de Paris. Though I already owned the silver Rolls, he encouraged me to buy the very latest automobile, an open-topped scarlet Bugatti with a dove gray leather interior that I knew everyone envied as I drove by.

He escorted me to the fashionable shops and salons I had always been too shy to enter, afraid they would make fun of my stocky, full-bosomed figure because all the other women were reed-slim and fashionably breastless. He took me to have my hair bobbed in the new style, encouraged me to try makeup, massages, perfume. Archer Kane made me feel good about myself for the first time in my life. He knew how to seduce a woman.

He was charming, sociable, handsome. The perfect suitor. When we got married a few weeks later, it was a nine-day scandal. I knew what the gossips said—that
he was just another fortune hunter who got lucky, “but at what a price, because Lord knows
la célibataire
has been around a long time”—but I didn’t care. I was in love, and I thought he loved me.

I was prepared to be happy anywhere with him, even on the primitive island where he took me. And even when I saw the famous ranch was nothing much more than a few wild acres. But this was to be my new home, my new life with my handsome, adoring husband, and I willingly gave him money so that he could buy more acres and more cattle and expand the lodge on Kalani. And also—unknown to me then—to indulge his male lust in Honolulu. Because, as he told me cruelly when I found out and confronted him, he found his wife old and ugly and unappealing.

The blue eyes that had once gazed so adoringly at me now raked me with contempt; the caresses had become cruel blows, and I soon realized that when he was “nice” to me, it was only because he wanted money. Then I found out I was pregnant.

It was like a miracle for me, a woman of forty-one, having her first child, and it brought me the first true happiness I had felt since I had come to. Kalani. I did not tell Archer. I waited to see what would happen next.

He finally came to me with some legal documents that he wanted me to sign. He said they gave me an equal share in his ranch, but I saw that they really gave him control over my fortune. I refused to sign them, and I was finally forced to face the truth.

Sick and disillusioned and heavy with child, I left him. I returned here, to my old home, the Villa Mimosa, that my beloved father had built for me when I was still his “little princess,” long ago, when I still believed—because he told me so often—that I was a pretty girl and that the world was mine. He had built the silver aviary so that I would always hear the
sound of the songbirds I loved, and the grotto on the hill with the stream, and the fountains so I would hear the music of the water. And he had filled the exquisite gardens with my favorite mimosas whose scent marked my birthday every spring. It was my home, and now it became my refuge. I would have my baby there and bring him up in its peace and security. I never wanted to see Archer Kane again.

Then suddenly he arrived. He told me that because of me, he was deeply in debt and would be forced to mortgage his lands. He stood to lose everything—his cattle, his ranch, even his island—unless I gave him money. He promised to go away, so I gave it to him, but by now it was obvious I was pregnant. He said he had decided to stay after all. He wanted to be with me, to help me. After all, he said, it was his child, too.

I’m ashamed to confess that at first a part of me wanted to believe him. But I could not allow myself to trust him. I wanted nothing to do with him, but he was my husband, and there was nothing I could do. I refused to let him near me, I would not go out with him, though he tried to cajole me because, I know now, he wanted us to appear together as the happy couple. At the Villa Mimosa he was always the perfect gentleman, the adoring young husband with the older pregnant wife. He played his cards well; he never even looked at another woman the whole time. And then you were born, my dear son.

You look so fragile and small, lying there in the crib I arranged myself, purchasing the soft voile and the lace and ribbons to make it beautiful for you. I longed for you so much, and now here you are. And I love you with a mother’s devotion.

It was not an easy birth, remember I was older, and I was still shaken and quite ill when your father came to see you the next day. He looked at you in your crib, and I allowed myself to think for one fleeting
moment that maybe he would love his son and that there was some hope for our happiness. But then I saw from his face that he feels nothing for you. He said you did not even look like him. You were a Leconte, not a Kane.

And now, my son, as I write this letter, you are one week old. Today I think you smiled at me, even though Nanny Beale said it was not a real smile yet. You mean everything to me, and Archer knows it. There is something in the air here, a crackle of tension permeating the house, though he is still playing the role of the charming husband. I do not trust him, and next week, when I am stronger and can go downstairs, I intend to confront him. I shall tell him that I mean to divorce him on the grounds of his numerous adulteries. I will tell him that he will not receive another cent from me. And that you, dear little Jean, will inherit everything.

And that is the reason I am writing this letter, which I hope Nanny Beale will never have to give to you.

Archer is a dangerous man. He is ruthless and uncaring. I want you to understand that if anything bad happens to me, no matter what he claims or says, it will not have been an accident. Nor would I ever kill myself. You are too important to me for that. I am hoping, always hoping, my dear son, that I will be here to watch you grow up and to share your life. And I want you to know that I love you.

Your devoted mother