Aubrielle's Call (20 page)

Unable to make even this basic decision—to respond with reason to his simple request—she hesitated. In the end, she sighed in exasperation at herself and shook her head. “I don’t know if you should.”

“I’ll mind my manners. I promise.” His hand came close to her hair, then lowered to his side. “I think we need to talk.”

She stared at him, willing her gaze not to drop to his lips, and when they did, she closed her eyes and turned away. “Yes, all right. Please, come in.”

She hung her scarf on a hook, then her coat. Her hands halted as she caught sight of her father’s jacket.

John hung his overcoat on the peg beside hers.

“I’ll put on a kettle for tea unless you want something stronger.” She left the cloakroom without waiting for John.

“I'll have tea.” He trailed her into the kitchen and leaned against the wall, watching her as she worked. “You—appear upset with me. Have I done something to make you angry?”

Aubrielle filled the tea kettle then set it on the burner and adjusted the flame. “It’s something Papa said.”

“Tell me.”

She ran a hand over her face. “First, let me ask, had you ever met my father before?”

“I met Lou Cohen for the first time the night I brought you home from the park and cleaned your knees.”

“Did you speak to him behind my back? Tell him things without my knowledge?”

“No, of course not. What is this about?”

Aubrielle shook her head. Her dark eyes swam with unshed tears. “Early yesterday morning, the sound of his labored breathing woke me. It was—I’ve never heard anything like it.”

“It’s called a death rattle. An appropriate name for a chilling sound.”

“When I got to his room, he recognized me—called me by name, and then asked if Sir Jurian had returned. When I asked him if he meant John, he said, yes. Sir John.”

“He was very sick, Aubrielle. His mind—”

“Don’t patronize me. I know how ill he was, how confused he could be. I know that what he said makes no sense.
I know it.
And yet, Papa believed the things he told me.” She removed the kettle from the flame and turned off the burner.

“Things about me?”

“Yes.” From a jar on the counter, she added measured scoops of loose tea to the porcelain teapot and filled it with hot water.

“What did he say?”

“Mostly that he wanted to speak with you—most urgently—but he also reminisced about holding your magnificent white steed at your wedding.”

John looked away.

“Does that mean something to you? Papa also said you had come for me—that I belonged to you.” The teacups rattled as she set them on the table.

What are you hiding from me, John?

“Aubrielle—”

“Do you have an explanation? Did you tell him these things? He believed them. He recognized you from the very first time you met him. He—.”

“Aubrielle.” He raised his voice and pushed away from the wall. “Before I answer you, tell me, do you believe in magic?”

“Magic? I don’t believe what I’m hearing. Are you claiming Papa was under a spell?

“Not at all. But you were raised in the Catholic faith. You must believe in miracles. Miraculous happenings. Unexplainable events.”

“Only those sent by God.”

“And that is the only magic you believe?”

“Of course.”

John nodded. “Then the things your father said to you the night he died must have been visions sent to comfort him, or half-remembered dreams. I know he worried for your safety.” John paced away. “I’m a strong and resourceful man. My size alone can impose authority on some individuals. Your papa knew I could protect you.”

“Would your answer have been different if I had said yes? If I believed in magic?”

John looked at her for several long seconds before he answered. “Perhaps.”

“Why?”

“Because magic opens up new realms of possibility.”

Anger flared, and she shook her head. “And again, you patronize me.”

Why do I need to listen to this? Today of all days?

“Aubrielle, I never meant—”

“I’m sorry, John. I would like you to go.”

He hesitated, as though he would argue, then gave a single nod and left the kitchen.

Aubrielle covered her mouth with her hand and resisted the urge to call him back. The sound of him slipping on his overcoat and the back door opening tore at her heart. Unable to hold herself back, she hurried down the hall. But the door had already closed.

John disappeared down the steps.

She stood at the window and watched him leave.

He never looked back.

Loss and mistrust tugged her heart away from affection and desire. She hung her head and wiped a tear, turning her back to the window. She paused at her father’s room, but couldn’t go in.
Not yet.
His room would need to be emptied. The whole house would need emptied and cleaned before she could move in with Mae.

I’ll be gone from my home by Christmas.

She wandered across the living room to her father’s
hanukiah
. The candles from the first night lay pooled in hard puddles in their cups. She pulled the storage box from beneath the table and packed the
menorah
and candles away. Her heart could find no reason for celebration.

CHAPTER 28

John leaned his shoulder against the wall outside
La Fleur Chantante’s
entrance. He wore one of the dark suits Maurice Bonet provided. All male employees dressed alike. Tonight the club filled early, and a small crowd waited in the cold for their chance to pass through the door. Waited for John to let them in.

He’d taken over the doorman position from Webber, who sat warm in the booth with the owner right now. A cold breeze picked up, and John stood away from the wall, turning his collar against the chill.

Inside the club, Henri would be warm, standing beside
Monsieur
Bonet as his personal valet.

Perhaps I should have held out for an inside position.

The prospective patrons huddled in small groups along the wall.

No one tried to talk their way past John. No one spoke to him at all. Standing guard at the entrance proved a lonely occupation and gave him far too much time to think.

Two weeks ago Aubrielle had asked him to leave her home. And for two weeks John had stayed away from the woman who bound his heart. He’d watched from his window as Mae’s bakers and Henri moved Aubrielle’s things to the apartment above the
boulangerie
. He wanted to help her, but could not.

Henri had brought a message from Aubrielle. She needed time to grieve and had asked him to stay away.

He could only do what she had asked, although it hadn’t been easy. Work helped. Besides the welcome income, it kept him away from her door each night. By the time he got back to his apartment, in the early hours of the morning, Aubrielle was safely tucked into bed.

John found it much harder to leave her alone during the day.

Aubrielle had resumed her daily treks to the park with Éclair and her wagon, this time selling Mae’s baked goods.

I’d know if she were in danger. I’d know, and I’d be too far away for it to matter.

John rolled his shoulders. Aubrielle wasn’t his only worry.

Karl Reimer continued to evade him. Bonet had pulled favors to find his former employee but to no avail. Reimer and his Nazi infiltrators had vanished like the fog into the city.

A laughing couple exited the club.

John held open the door and raised two fingers. He allowed a woman to enter but held up his hand to the next party of four.

They nodded and resumed their discussion.

As the woman cleared the entrance, Henri stepped outside. “Bonet asked me to check the line.” Dressed identical to John, his blue-eyed inspection took stock of the people waiting to enter the club. “There are more in line than I thought.”

At the far end of the line, a group argued. Their heated discussion ended when all five walked away from the entrance.

“That makes things easier. As soon as that group is gone, let in the rest. Tell them there is standing room only at the tables along the rail.”

“Understood.”

“Oh, and Aubrielle and Mae would like us to join them for Christmas Eve dinner.”

John stared at Henri. “You’ve seen her?”

“Aubrielle?” Henri grinned.
“I have.
Bonet has developed a fondness for Mae’s flaky croissants. I pick up a
demi-douzaine
for his breakfast every day.”

John nodded, then grasped Henri’s arm. “Will
La Fleur
be closed on Christmas Eve?”

“Yes.” Henri pulled his arm from John
’
s grasp and laughed. “Come inside John. The cold up there has seeped between your ears.”

* * *

Mae took the goose from the oven and rested the pan on a trivet beside the large cutting board. “We’ll let this rest for a moment before we carve.”

Aubrielle untied her apron and hung it in the pantry. “The table is set. We need only light the candles.”

“Good.” Mae crossed to the sink full of dishes. “I’ll take care of a few of these before our guests arrive.”

The apartment layout above Mae’s bakery was similar to her house above Papa’s shop. Both buildings were two stories with the living space above the stores. Mae had emptied the back bedroom for Aubrielle’s use. The same room she’d grown up in at her house. Mae’s kindness knew no bounds.

Aubrielle slipped into the washroom and switched on the light. Leaning close to the mirror she studied her face. She pinched her cheeks for color and smoothed a fat curl above her forehead. Her efforts didn’t calm her nerves. John would arrive at any moment. Her stomach tensed and rolled at the thought.

I’ve missed him.

She hadn’t seen or spoken to him in over two weeks. How many mornings had she waited in her dark room for the light in his apartment to go out? When she knew he slept, she’d watch a moment longer, then begin her day.

I can’t allow him to speak to me like a child.

He’d made her so furious the day of her father’s funeral, but she’d been angry at everyone. Angry at the world. Angry at Papa.

It had been good to take the time to grieve and go through her parents’ things. To remember them. She’d kept personal nicknacks and trinkets that reminded her of each of them. The rest had been sold at the auction to pay back rent. Finally free of the millinery and debt, she hoped to begin again.

Perhaps with John as well.

A knock sounded at the back door, and she gripped the washroom counter. One last check of her teeth and she hurried past Mae to greet their guest.

John stood at the back door, visible through the glass panel.

Aubrielle dried nervous palms on her green holiday skirt and opened the door. “
Bonjour
.”

“
Bonjour
. Merry Christmas.”

“Please, come in.”

John wiped his feet on the doormat and handed Aubrielle two bottles. “I didn’t know what to bring for dinner, so I brought the wine.”

“Always a good choice.” She read the labels. “One dinner wine and one desert. Perfect. But Mae said you had provided the goose.”

“Ah well, Mae should keep some things to herself.” John chuckled as he hung his coat.

Another knock at the door and Henri stepped inside.
“Joyeux Noël.”
Henri carried a pillowcase filled with boxes. He handed the bag to John as he removed his coat.

“Are you the
P
ère Noël
now?” Aubrielle asked over her shoulder as she walked toward the kitchen.

“
Not I.”
Henri laughed. “I bring only a few gifts for dear friends.”

“Put them in the front room beneath the tree,” Aubrielle directed. “We can open them after we eat.”

After the meal had been finished, and the dishes stacked in the sink, Aubrielle and Mae led their guests to the front room.

In the corner stood a small spruce fir tree decorated with Mae’s festive handmade ornaments. The living area had only two chairs that faced the front window.

Aubrielle turned the radio on low and tuned to a station playing Christmas music. She sat on the floor beside the tree, curling her legs beneath her skirt.

John opened the bottle of Champagne and poured the bubbly liquid into the tall fluted glasses Mae had supplied. He handed each person a drink.

Mae settled into one of the chairs and set her glass on the side table. “I want to thank you all for sharing Christmas with me.”

John lowered himself to the floor between the radio and the tree. “I feel the same way. Without each of you, this Christmas would have been a lonely holiday.”

Henri raised his glass. “To the friends who have become my family.”

“To friends,” Aubrielle echoed and sipped the sparkling wine. Bubbles tickled their way down her throat, as dry acidic liquid assaulted her mouth. She set the glass down and shivered with distaste.

“You prefer the
Sauvignon Blanc?”
John asked.

“
Oui,”
she replied. Her face warmed beneath his regard. Eager
to change the subject from herself, she reached for the gifts.
“And now, without further delay, let’s open our presents.” She handed a wrapped box to John and one to Henri. “These are from Mae and me.”

“Cookies!” Henri exclaimed and smiled his thanks to both Mae and Aubrielle. “And sweetbread. This is wonderful. Thank you.”

“Thank you.” John held the piece of sweet bread beneath his nose and inhaled. “Mmm, it even smells sweet.” His smile crinkled the corner of his eyes.

“Hand out my gifts.” Henri took the seat beside Mae. “The red is for Aubrielle, blue for Mae, and the brown package is for John.”

“Henri, we discussed this.” John narrowed his eyes at Henri as he took the package from Aubrielle.

Aubrielle laughed with pleasure at the happy banter between her friends.

Mae pulled out a knitted blue scarf and looked wide-eyed at Henri. “Don’t tell me you made this yourself.”

Henri grinned. “A woman who works at
La Fleur
makes them.”

Aubrielle pushed back the tissue paper and touched the soft red wool. “Henri, this is beautiful.” She lifted the large square scarf, folded it in half and pulled it around her shoulders. “It’s so warm. Thank you.”

John’s scarf was brown with beige stripes. He folded it and laid it around his neck. “Thank you, Henri.”

“I thought you needed one since you stand out in the cold every night.”

“Why are you outside?” Aubrielle moved her gaze from Henri to John.

“I’ve taken a job at the musical club where Henri works,
La Fleur Chantante.”
John reached into his suit pocket and pulled out an envelope. “Speaking of which, Henri and I would like to invite you both to the New Year’s Eve celebration at
La Fleur.”

Aubrielle took the envelope from John’s hand and withdrew four colorful passes. “Will you work that night?” She glanced up at John and caught an unguarded look of affection on his face.

“
Monsieur
Bonet assured me that the evening would be my own.”

“This is only a week away.” Aubrielle looked to Mae. “What will we wear?”

Mae waved her hand, clearly delighted. “I’m sure we’ll find something. It’s been so long since I listened to music that wasn’t on the radio.” She reached over and grasped Henri’s hand. Her face flushed with excitement. “Thank you both.”