Scent of Triumph (35 page)

“No, sir.” Cameron hung his head. “I appreciate your taking a chance on me. I won’t let you down.”

“I hope not. This is a rare opportunity for you. You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Erica.” He smoothed his already impeccable silver hair and glared at Cameron. “Tell me how you plan to organize your life so that you’ll be more responsible during our filming and contract period. Why should I put my studio resources behind you?”

“Well, sir, I-I,” Cameron stammered.

“Yes?”

“I’m getting married.”

“Married?” Lou sat up, frowning. Would Erica make the same mistake twice?
I certainly hope not
, he thought, or there goes another star, just when she’s on top.

“To Danielle Bretancourt, the perfumer and dress designer.”

Danielle Bretancourt. Lou repeated the name to himself with pleasure. Now there was a woman who had both feet on the ground. No doubt, she could keep Cameron in line, at least for the duration of filming. He recalled that when he had asked Danielle about designing costumes for Erica Evans, she had phoned him early the next morning, just as she’d promised. And her designs were stunning. Lou had approved every one she submitted, taking twice the number he’d planned. Danielle didn’t miss an opportunity. Lou couldn’t really put them together. But who can ever tell about affairs of the heart?

“Good move,” Lou said. “I like her.” He stood abruptly, signaling the completion of their meeting. “Don’t let her get away. She’s a good match for you.” He paused. “If what you say about your marriage is true, then I have renewed confidence in your judgment.” He stared hard at Cameron. “That is,
if
you marry Danielle, and
if
you can hold onto her. I’m being straight with you, Cameron. You need someone like her.”

“Absolutely, I couldn’t agree more.” Cameron shifted from one foot to the other.

“Have you chosen a date? Let’s time it in conjunction with the release of the new movie. Weddings are great publicity for the studio.”

“Sure, I guess that’s okay.”

“Good. Let me know tomorrow. Don’t let me down again, boy.” Lou grasped his hand with an iron grip and sent Cameron scurrying out the door.

Lou turned to the window, gazing out across the city. He thought for a moment of Danielle Bretancourt with Cameron Murphy, then shook his head.

What made women fall in love?

A slow smile spread across his face. He made a mental note to call Abigail for dinner.

* * *

The late summer sun streamed through the smudged windowpane in Danielle’s apartment. She pressed her fingers lightly against the glass and watched her mother and Liliana two flights below on the street, strolling hand in hand to the corner market. She was glad that Marie’s mental condition had improved, but Marie still had tremendous hurdles to overcome.

Over the summer, Danielle had visited with several doctors. They agreed that Marie needed a substantial period of rest and recuperation in a controlled environment, and might benefit from recent advancements in psychotherapy and psychiatry.

Treatment would be expensive, and no matter how much she worked, or how far she stretched their budget, there simply wasn’t enough money. Danielle drummed her fingers on the glass, frustration churning in her stomach.

An enormous decision weighed on her mind.

In the bassinet behind her, she could hear the regular rhythm of Jasmin’s breathing. Her girls also had needs. School, clothing, food. She sat on the bed and folded her arms, mulling over her dilemma.

Since Lou’s party, Danielle had been seeing Cameron. For weeks, he had professed his undying devotion.

And just yesterday, he had proposed marriage.

Although their lovemaking was extraordinarily passionate, when the sexual fog lifted, Danielle knew she didn’t love him as she had loved Max, or even Jon. Still, she thought they could grow into love.

Perhaps I owe it to Mother and the girls
, she thought. They deserve a better life. Someday she would be able to provide for them, but when? Next year? Or would it take her three years, or five years? She shuddered to think of it. Those would be lost years for Marie. How could she justify that?

Time...how precious a gift. She thought of Nicky, her beloved son. She’d give anything to spend just one more day with him.

Anguish seized her heart in a flash before she pushed it away, efficiently boxing her emotions for storage, as she did at night when Nicky drifted into her dreams. It was the only way she could function, the only way she could sleep.

Should I marry Cameron?

Still, another question tugged at her heart.

Danielle reached into the nightstand drawer and withdrew Jon’s last letter. Curling her legs under her, she opened it and began to read.

My dear Danielle,

Thank you for your last letter. Your words certainly keep this lonely sailor going.

We’ve scarcely a free moment these days. The night raids over London continue, and the Germans are intent on sinking every blessed vessel in the Royal Navy. I fear we can’t hold out much longer without assistance from the Yanks. This war is pure hell, and my heart bleeds for the poor young blokes on the front lines.

Last week I received a disturbing letter from my sister. Abigail wrote that you’re seeing quite a lot of Cameron, that you’re practically engaged. Why haven’t you mentioned this in your letters? I was startled to learn you’re contemplating marriage, particularly to Cameron. Think this through, I beg of you.

Danielle lowered his letter, thinking. Her relationship with Cameron had moved so quickly. He was an impetuous man, a man accustomed to having his way, which was so clearly evident in everything he did, from his career to his passion for her body.

She lifted the letter and began to read again.

Abigail also wrote to say she told you of my engagement to Victoria. I suppose most men in my position would be happy. No formal engagement has been announced, and I don’t intend to make any final decision until after the war. I hope you understand the reason for my hesitation.

It takes a long time to really know someone, Danielle. I wish I were there with you, to share our experiences and develop our friendship.

Give little Jasmin a kiss for me. Must sign off now, I’m on duty again soon.

Regards,

Jon

Danielle stared at the letter, trying to read between the lines.
To develop our friendship
, Jon had written. She remembered Grasse, how he had helped her through her grief over Max, helped her deliver Jasmin. And his passionate good-bye kiss. His offer for her to live with his family in England. And now she writes about
friendship
? A slow anger filled her.

I’ve misjudged him.
His earlier letter had held the words and promises of a man under pressure, fearing for his life. She wasn’t the first woman to receive such emotional letters from the front lines. And now that he had made up his mind and proposed to Victoria, as Abigail said, he was clearly he was putting distance between them. She couldn’t really blame him, though. After all, she had rebuffed him when he asked her to come to England. But she could not have put her family in harm’s way, not for the love of any man.
And rightly so,
she thought. Nazi night raids by air were devastating London now.

She shook her head sadly, regret filling her heart. She had been mistaken. Jon’s feelings for her were clearly in the past.

She lifted her chin and faced the truth. Jon was marrying Victoria. Both families approved of the match. As Abigail said, they’d been planning it for years.

If only Cameron were more like Jon.
If only
. Still, Cameron was incredibly, unrelentingly passionate.

Danielle pressed her hands against her throbbing temples as she came to her difficult decision.

She reached into the nightstand for a pen and writing paper. She scratched a brief, hasty reply to Jon, sprayed it with perfume, as was her custom, then folded the letter and sealed it in an envelope.

The next morning, Danielle waited on the street outside of her apartment with an armload of dresses she’d carried downstairs, not wanting Abigail to see the chaos in her apartment. She hoped Abigail would like the new slim silhouettes. Fabric was scarce due to the war effort, so she'd tapered her designs to skim the body and use very little material. Her new designs were perfect for Abigail's athletic figure.

Abigail arrived at exactly nine o’clock, as they’d arranged. She waved and pulled her car to the curb.

“I can’t wait to show you my latest designs,” Danielle said, placing the garments carefully in the back seat.

Abigail laughed. “I don’t know which of us is more excited. I can’t wait to try them on. I need something very special for this V.I.P. luncheon.”

Danielle swung her legs into the car and shut the door. “Will Lou be there?”

Abigail smiled. “He seems to turn up wherever I go.”

The two friends chatted as Abigail started back to her home.

“Abigail, I need to post a letter. Mind stopping at the Beverly Hills post office?”

“It’s on the way.”

Abigail stopped, and Danielle stepped from the car to mail her letter to Jon, thinking that it might be the last one she’d write to him. Thoughts of Cameron and Jon swirled in her mind, and she shook her head. She hurried back to the car, and Abigail continued to her nearby home.

“Here we are. Danielle, let me help you with those.”

“You just want a peek!”

The two women hurried into the house, and Abigail kicked off her shoes, eager to begin trying on the clothes that Danielle had made.

Danielle held up a rich plum-colored dress. “This is my favorite for you.”

“Mmm, this deep violet dress is beautiful, too.”

“This collection is all in rich jewel tones, which work beautifully with your complexion. Here, start trying them on. I’ll fit them to you when you’re ready.” Danielle reached into her black bag and brought out an embroidered pouch. “I have a new perfume for you, too. I was inspired by this new collection.” She opened the pouch and dabbed the elixir on Abigail’s outstretched wrist.

“It’s heavenly!” Abigail picked up several dresses. “I love that you’re branching out into fashion, Danielle. You’re going to be a mogul some day! Help yourself to coffee while I change. The housekeeper should have a fresh pot in the kitchen. She’s gone to the market, but make yourself at home.”

“Thanks, with these late nights of work, I could use another cup.” Danielle made her way through Abigail’s elegant home, across the polished hardwood floors, and past long white divans and vases of fragrant pink calla lilies into Abigail’s cheerful yellow kitchen.

As she was pouring coffee, the telephone rang. She heard Abigail call to her, “Darling, will you answer that for me.”

Danielle picked up the phone. “Hello?”

The line crackled, and she heard an operator’s voice. “I have an international call for Abigail Newell-Grey. Do you accept?”

Danielle accepted the call. A man’s deep voice boomed across the line.

“Is that you, Abigail? Hey sis, it’s Jon, can you hear me?”

Danielle felt her heart in her throat. “It’s me, Danielle.”

The line went quiet, and it seemed like an eternity before Jon answered. “Danielle! My God, it’s great to hear your voice!”

“Jon, where are you?”

“Can’t really say, but I wanted to tell—that I plan—in a few—hello? Are you there still?”

The line crackled, and Danielle could hardly make out his words. “You’re breaking up!”

“What?”

“Jon, I—I should congratulate you on your engagement.”

“Sorry, didn’t catch that—listen, I don’t have much time. Danielle, I have missed you so much.”

Danielle closed her eyes.
These were the words she had longed to hear.
But it was too late; he was engaged to be married. She opened her eyes and cleared her throat. "Jon, I want you to know—"

“What? Say again, Danielle.”

“I said—”

“Danielle, I’m—Angeles, want—speak to you.”

“What? Say that again?” The line sputtered and Danielle jiggled the phone. She couldn’t understand what he was saying. “Jon, are you still there?”

“I—you, Danielle.”

“Jon?” The line went dead. Danielle jiggled the telephone again. “Operator, operator? Can you get that call back?”

Jon stood by a country road, yelling into a phone at a farmer’s house. “I
have
to see you, Danielle. Can you hear me? I said I love you, and I
have
to see you. Wait for me!”

Two weeks later, Danielle knelt on the black and white checked linoleum floor in the studio fitting room, marking the hem of Erica’s ball gown, an ivory duchess satin dress Danielle had designed for the new Silverman Studios film,
The Spanish Heiress
.

“Can’t you hurry?” whined Erica.

“No, I can’t.” Danielle rocked back on her heels. “This is the dress Lou wants you to wear for the premiere, so it must be perfect. Now stand still.” With deft fingers she measured, marked, and pinned. “Walk,” she commanded.

Erica whirled, knocking Danielle over with the full skirt, the rich aroma of Caron’s Tabac Blond rising in the warm room.

Danielle caught herself and grimaced, swallowing her anger.
I will not allow her to intimidate me
. She knew the opportunity for her new Bretancourt line to be introduced on the silver screen was the break she needed. She would not let Erica ruin it with her petty actions.

Erica Evans had a well-earned reputation of being difficult. The costume designer for the film had quit after one of Erica’s tyrannical tizzy fits. By default, Danielle had been put in charge of completing the film’s costumes.

She’d had been given a small staff, but she insisted on fitting Erica herself. Although Erica was temperamental, Danielle wanted her suits and evening dresses to be perfect.

“Come here, Erica. I need to let the bodice out. Have you gained weight?” Danielle had given her strict orders not to gain weight, otherwise she’d have to refit the entire wardrobe. Not that Erica cared.