Scent of Triumph (22 page)

Christina poured another glass of sherry. Danielle pressed it to her lips, her hands shaking.

“I’m sorry, Danielle, but there’s more I must tell you,” Christina said. “When your mother was in the hospital recovering, I asked to be assigned to her. The day after the accident, Jean-Claude appeared at the hospital with Liliana and Jasmin. He looked half-crazed,” she said, her eyes widening. “He visited with your mother, then begged me to look after the girls, saying he had something urgent to attend to.”

Christina shook her head, her distress escalating. “Jean-Claude had returned to the apartment, and left a note asking us to care for Marie and the girls until you returned. He told us you were ill and couldn’t travel. He said if you hadn’t returned by the end of the month to wire your uncle Philippe.”

“Oh, no, no, no.” Danielle covered her face with her hands. “Christina, where is Jean-Claude?”

Christina wrung her hands as she spoke, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m so sorry to tell you this,” she sobbed. “We found him in the basement. He put a bullet through his head.”

“Suicide?” The word tasted strange on her tongue.

“He left a letter for you,” Christina added, motioning toward a stack of envelopes on the étagère. “Jean-Claude made the burial arrangements for your father and Hélène before he took his life. There’s also a letter marked ‘Urgent.’ It just came for you, hand-delivered.”

Danielle fought the urge to scream, to snatch Jasmin and race from the flat.
But where could I run
? Instead, she rubbed her forehead and tried to think clearly. “Maman, my poor dear maman. I wish I’d been here with her.”

“Amazingly, her injuries were minor.” Christina pulled a handkerchief from a pocket and dabbed her eyes. “But she’s under sedation, Danielle. I’m afraid the natural defenses of the mind have taken over. She seems oblivious to the tragedy. Most of the time she’s quiet, but occasionally she chatters pleasantly about you and Jean-Claude, or new decorations for the house. In time, she might recover, but it’s hard to predict the outcome for patients after they’ve had a nervous breakdown.”

Danielle nodded, struggling to assimilate the details. She stood and crossed to the window, peering out at the street below. She felt disembodied, as if she were watching the scene in the apartment unfold from a perch high overhead.
How could it be?

She blinked back hot tears. First Max, then Nicky and Sofia. Now her father, and Jean-Claude and Hélène.
Malheur ne vient jamais seul
. Misfortune never comes alone.
Did God have no mercy
? She heaved a great sigh. But what was done, was done. She couldn’t bring them back. She had no time to cry now. Not anymore. She had the girls to think about. And her mother. Somehow, she found her voice. “Can my mother be cared for at home?” she asked.

Christina nodded.

“Can she travel?”

“I think so.”

Danielle chewed her lip. “And how is Liliana?”

“
Pobrecita
. She needs you, poor little one. She suffers from melancholia. But she’s young, she’ll recover with your love.”

“As soon as I can, I’m taking them to Grasse.” Danielle glanced around the flat. “I assume there is much to do here.”

“Not really. Jean-Claude mentioned that your parents’ house has already been foreclosed upon by your father’s bank, and that your uncle will handle the remainder of the estate.”

“Of course.” Danielle leaned against the wall, gazing outside the window. The smell of irises was nauseating.

Christine stood. “I really must go. Will you be all right?”

Danielle shook her head. “But thank you for looking after my baby.” Danielle lifted the window sash to air the room. She gulped a breath of air. “Actually, I’ll be better as soon as I get rid of these damned flowers,” she muttered to herself.

After Christina had gone, Danielle picked up the letters. She recognized Jean-Claude’s hasty scrawl and opened his letter.

My dear Danielle
, it began.
Forgive me, but I cannot live with what I have done. It was a horrible accident, and I was responsible. Philippe will tell you everything. Please look after Liliana for me, and let her know I will always love her. As I do you, my dear sister. May God bless and protect you, Jean-Claude.

His words didn’t make sense to her. How could he have been responsible for the accident? Danielle choked and wiped her eyes. She thumbed through the rest of the letters, mostly from friends of her parents. One was marked
Urgent
. She remembered Christina had said it had just arrived. She tore it open.

You don’t know me, but I was a friend of your brother.

Danielle sat down.

If you see F.W., tell her someone is looking for her in Paris. She must leave the city without delay.
The letter was signed:
Françoise
.

F.W., Frau Werner. Panic seized her throat. The Nazis were on her trail.

Danielle picked up Jean-Claude’s letter and read it again.
Philippe will tell you everything
. Is he involved in the Resistance, too? she wondered. And who is Françoise? Danielle’s mind swirled with questions.

But she knew one thing. The Nazis had traced her. Courtesy of Heinrich, no doubt. She prayed that Oscar had been spared.

She glanced at the letter again.
We must leave now. Tonight
.

But she knew it would be a simple matter of time before she was traced to Grasse.
Where could they go?
Her head pounded with terror. The Nazis might be watching her even now. She stood and backed away from the window.

Suddenly she remembered Abigail’s letter. She snatched her purse and rifled through it. She ripped open Abigail’s letter and scanned it, taking note of her address. Abigail had once offered to help them if they ever came to America.

That was it, Danielle decided. She’d find a way to go to America, and then to Los Angeles.
But how?
She bit her lip and thought. Philippe. Somehow, he was involved. Perhaps he could help. Danielle glanced at her bag, still sitting by the front door. If they hurried, they could make the last train.

Danielle strode to the window. There, in the street below, stood young, skinny German soldiers in their green uniforms, shouldering guns. The
haricots verts
, the French disparagingly called them. The string beans. Were they waiting for her? She yanked the curtains shut.

Danielle hurried to the master bedroom and opened the door. Her mother and Liliana lay sleeping on the bed. Her mother’s hair, normally in a neat coiffure, lay tangled on the pillow; her face had a greyish pallor and looked drawn and lined. Danielle sighed; she hardly recognized Marie.

Liliana stirred. On silent feet, the waif-like four-year-old scrambled off the bed and ran to Danielle. Marie didn’t move.

“Shhh,” Danielle said, and guided Liliana down the hallway to the sitting room.

Liliana hugged her tightly. “My maman and papa went away and they aren’t coming back. Will you be my maman now?” Liliana asked. Her vivid green Bretancourt eyes, the mirror image of Danielle’s, were wide and desperate.

“Of course,” Danielle whispered, smoothing the little girl’s soft blond hair, but the words caught in her throat. She kissed Liliana on the forehead. “You and Jasmin will be my girls, and I’ll take good care of you. First we’ll go to Grasse to see Uncle Philippe, and then we’ll all go to America. Would you like that?”

“If...if you want to.”

“Indeed I do, and you’ll like it, too, once we’re settled. We’ll be safe there, we’ll go to a city called Los Angeles.” She thought of Abigail and Cameron. “I have friends there.”

“Los Angeles,” Liliana repeated. “The angels, like Christina says in Spanish. Is it like heaven? Maman and Papa are in heaven now.” She looked down at her bare feet. “I miss them.”

“We all do. But now we have to make our own little heaven on earth.” Danielle squeezed her eyes shut and hugged her niece. “Liliana, I need your help now. I need you to help me with my mother and Jasmin. You’ll have to be a big girl now. Can you do that? Will you help me?”

Liliana nodded, her face pale and serious.

“Good. There’s no reason why we have to stay here any longer, and it will be so nice to see Uncle Philippe. In fact, they’re harvesting on the farm and you can watch. I thought we’d all go tonight.”

“Tonight? All of us?”

“We’re a family now, Liliana.” Danielle hugged her again. “And I’ll never, never leave you alone.”

When she opened the front door to leave, she saw a note pinned to it.
Go to the rear entrance.
Danielle quickly herded the girls and Marie down the stairs, where the young boy in the delivery truck met them.

“We’re taking the train,” she began to say.

“You can’t. But I have permission for deliveries to and from Paris.” He motioned for them to squeeze into a shallow hidden compartment. They climbed in, not another word was spoken.

* * *

Early the next morning, Danielle walked into the kitchen and found Philippe at his table drinking coffee.

“I didn’t expect you to be up so early,” he said. “You arrived so late last night, I thought you’d need more rest.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she said, pouring coffee for herself. She turned to her uncle. “I heard you on your short-wave radio last night.”

He shrugged. “Just a hobby.”

“You were speaking to Paris and Marseilles.”

Philippe raised his eyes to her. “Danielle, we need to talk, and I’d rather not do it here. I called my midwife friend, the one who delivered Jasmin. She’s upstairs with Liliana now. She can look after the girls and Marie for a while. I thought we could saddle the horses, take a ride, and speak privately along the way, just like we used to do. Some of your old riding gear is still in your closet. Are you feeling up for it?”

Danielle lifted a brow, and glanced questioningly at him, but knowing her uncle, she replied, “I’ll change right away.”

“Good. I need to check on the receipt of raw material—sandalwood oil—from India. Afterwards, we can look over the fields.”

Minutes later, Danielle came downstairs wearing her old beige riding pants, tall black leather boots, and a black jacket. “I’m ready, Philippe.”

He rose and put his hands on her shoulders. “Good. I know that you are.”

The summer morning shone clear and bright, and as they rode, they talked as they surveyed fields of rose, lavender, and tuberose, the fresh aromas caressing the morning air.

Philippe pulled on the reins of his old bay gelding. “Let’s stop here,” he called to Danielle.

Danielle slowed her dappled grey horse to a trot. They came to a stop on a knoll above the farm and the chateau.

Philippe stroked his horse’s mane. “I wish you could stay for the jasmine harvest.”

Danielle shook her head. “We’ve got to leave. I’m determined to take my family, or what remains of it, as far from Europe as possible. If only you’d come with us.”

“Before harvest is complete? You know better than that, Danielle.”

She frowned. “You’re just like Max, putting business before family. Look where it got us.”

“That was different, Danielle,” Philippe said quietly. “I must stay here.”

Danielle whirled in her saddle. “Why, Philippe? What is it that binds you so to this land that you’d risk your life for it?”

Philippe looked at her. “You’re angry, and that’s good. Anger will give you the strength you need.”

“Philippe, you know I haven’t much time. Jean-Claude left me a letter. He said that you had something to tell me.”

“I do.” He cleared his throat. “It’s about the accident.”

“What more is there to say?” Danielle’s words tasted bitter in her mouth. “It’s over. Nothing can bring them back.”

“Your brother set the bomb.”

Danielle’s mouth opened, and at first, no words came out.
Had
her uncle gone mad?
“That’s preposterous.”

“You knew Jean-Claude was working for the underground.”

Danielle gasped. “But, but how did you know?”

“I recruited him.”

Danielle slumped in her saddle. “No, Philippe, don’t tell me you are behind this.”

“I want you to know what happened, the reason behind it, and why Jean-Claude took his life.”

“Does it matter now?”

“Someday it will matter to Liliana, and you must tell her that her parents died for a noble cause.” He touched Danielle on the shoulder. “I share your pain, Danielle. Their blood is on my hands. If I have the courage to live with this, then you must have the courage to listen and try to understand.”

Danielle steadied her horse. “Go on.”

Philippe went on to tell her how fervent Jean-Claude’s beliefs had been, how he had helped hundreds of refugees to safety, and how he had developed a specialty in explosives. “He was quite good with his hands.”

Danielle nodded sadly. “He would have made a fine surgeon. He always wanted to save lives.”

“Yes, and he succeeded. He saved many lives, Danielle. Unfortunately, his last mission went awry. Françoise, his partner, gave me the details. Your parents and Hélène were not supposed to have been in that car. The target was LeBlanc and another board member. They succeeded with LeBlanc, and it has crippled the flow of funds into fascist coffers. Jean-Claude accomplished part of his mission.” Philippe’s eyes grew moist. “But he could not live with the knowledge of what he had done to Hélène, Marie, and Edouard.”

“Why do you tell me this now, Philippe?”

“Because Françoise wanted to meet you and give you her condolences in person.” He motioned beyond them on the path. An attractive woman with short henna-red hair stepped from the bushes and walked toward them.

“You’re Françoise?” Danielle’s tone was clipped.

She nodded. “I wanted to tell you how sorry I am for your loss. Your brother and I often worked together, and he never would have endangered your family. He was a careful man. A man of high principles.” Tears swelled in her eyes. “We all miss him. I just wanted you to know that if you need my help, I’m here.”

“Françoise arranged your traveling documents to Poland,” Philippe said. “And arranged your passage here.”