Decision and Destiny (41 page)

There was a knock on the door. Yvette jumped up, but her hopeful face dropped when Paul stepped into the room. “Good afternoon,” he smiled.

She grumbled a greeting and trudged back to her desk.

“Good day, Paul,” Jeannette greeted cheerfully.

“I’ve brought you a surprise,” he offered pleasantly.

Yvette looked up in renewed interest.

“A cargo came in from England yesterday with a whole cask of sweets made from the sugar grown on Charmantes. I thought you’d like some.” He produced a paper bag from behind his back and offered it to Jeannette.

She snatched it from him quickly, exclaiming an enthusiastic “thank-you.” Yvette joined her sister to inspect the booty and pick out the choice pieces.

Paul looked to Charmaine. “There were fresh kegs of tea as well. Fatima is brewing some now. Would you like to join me for some on the porch?”

“That would be nice,” she answered, leaving the girls to their plans.

“You were working today?” Charmaine asked once they were sitting outdoors.

“It couldn’t wait. But the cargo was inventoried by early afternoon.”

“The cargo was from the
Falcon
?”

“Yes,” he replied, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Did you see John this morning?” Charmaine asked softly.

“We rode into town together.”

“Did he say anything to you?”

“Not much.” He sighed. “John wanted to go back to Virginia, Charmaine. I don’t blame him. It’s been unbearable here the past few days. He’s neglected a lot the last two months, and at least in Virginia he’ll have the distraction of work.” His voice was sympathetic. “I knew the girls needed some cheering up. They couldn’t have been happy with the news.”

“They did, and the candy helped. It was kind of you to think of them.”

Fatima arrived with the tea and poured two cups.

“How are you faring?” Paul asked. “Any better since Friday night?”

“I’m doing what I need to do to get through the days,” she replied honestly. “I try not to think about it. And still, I curse myself for leaving Pierre that morning.” Tears sprang to her eyes.

“It wasn’t your fault, Charmaine,” he comforted, taking her hand. “It wasn’t John’s fault, either. How many times had you left him to nap or come downstairs at night when you were certain he was asleep in his bed? You only did so knowing he was safe and sound. It wasn’t a lapse of responsibility to do that, Charmaine. Every parent does the same.”

“I know you are right,” she replied, dabbing her eyes. “Still it’s difficult not to think ‘if only I’d done this, or if only I’d done that.’ And it doesn’t help because I miss him terribly.”

“I know you do,” he replied, his warm hand stroking hers. “I do, too.”

They fell silent, sipping the piping hot tea, until Charmaine broached the subject of John again. “John told me everything that morning,” she mused tentatively, a little nervous Paul might grow weary or angry with the topic.

He looked at her, but did not seem annoyed. “But you’re still curious.”

“I’m curious to know how you feel about it. I never imagined you met Colette first.”

He leaned back in his chair and drew another long sip from his tea. “I was not in love with Colette, if that’s what you would like to know. I cared for her as a friend, a friendship that grew deeper with time. When we first met, I was attracted to her. She was beautiful. She knew her way around Paris society and introduced me to her circle of friends. So when John caught her fancy, I wasn’t jealous, not after a while anyway. There were plenty of women to pick and choose from, most of them willing…”

She could feel a blush rising to her cheeks. “But you were so angry at John those first few days after he came home.”

He shook his head. “He was bent upon provoking me. So, in my anger, perhaps I overreacted. Still, I never understood why John took the relationship as far as he did, and I blame him for that. Granted, he was engaged to Colette, and yes, my father should never have interfered. But once Father did, and Colette made her choice, John should have left it alone. Instead, he chose to torment her. He hated our father so much, he drew her into an impossible situation.”

“And Colette had no free will in the matter? John controlled everything?”

Paul massaged his forehead. “Charmaine, neither Colette nor John ever provided me with the details on how their affair started, or how long it lasted. What I do know is John was not lacking for other prospects. There were many women who, at the drop of a coin, would have fallen at his feet, ready and willing if he’d only given them the time of day. So why a love affair with a married woman—no, worse—his father’s wife, when the alternative is so easy and clear? John hurt my father deeply, and not just physically. Imagine how it felt to be cuckolded in his home, by his son, and afterward, wonder how many others in the house knew about the scandal.”

Live by the sword; die by the sword,
Charmaine thought, though she didn’t say so. “But John loved her,” she insisted instead. Fleetingly, she read surprise in Paul’s eyes, as if that possibility hadn’t occurred to him before.

“Then I don’t understand love,” he replied, exasperated now. “Perhaps I haven’t experienced it yet to judge whether one loses his rational mind over it.”

Enormously disheartened, she couldn’t respond, and again they fell silent. But as her distress dissipated, she measured his remark and, for the first time, understood his disdain for John’s actions. Even so, his view of the matter was highly impersonal—that one woman could so easily be replaced by another.

She poured him a second cup of tea, not wanting the conversation to end on this contentious note. “Your father called me to the study earlier this afternoon.”

“The study?” Paul asked quizzically.

“Yes. It looked like he was working there. He’ll be taking charge of the girls on Saturdays from now on. I’ll have that day off,” she finished on a laugh.

Paul was astonished and smiled. “Well, then, I’ll have to work harder during the week so my Saturdays are also free.”

Frederic was present at the dinner table that night, and although he worked at being cordial, his efforts fell short. The girls spoke to him, but only to answer his questions, their responses stilted. With a resigned smile, he dropped the artificial repartee, allowing his daughters their melancholy.

Before the meal was over, Yvette asked to be excused, complaining of fatigue and a stomachache. She promised to go straight to her room. But when Charmaine reached the nursery, the girl was nowhere to be found. The week, culminating with John’s unannounced departure that morning, had taken its toll on the headstrong nine-year-old.

After a quick search of the house, Charmaine found her in the stables, sitting on a pile of hay in the corner of Phantom’s stall, clutching her kitten and crying. Her stoic façade had crumbled.

“Johnny took Phantom with him this time, Mademoiselle Charmaine,” she sobbed, rocking back and forth. “That means he’s
never
coming back! Oh God! I want my brother. I just want my brother!”

Charmaine did not offer encouraging words to the contrary. The last time she’d insisted on miracles, disaster had stepped in to laugh at her. She’d stopped believing in miracles, anyway. Thus, she knelt down beside Yvette and hugged her close, allowing the child to embrace her misery and shed her bitter tears.

Cover design by Mumtaz Mustafa

Top cover photograph by Jana Leon/Jupiter Images

Bottom Image by Ricky Mujica