Scent of Triumph (37 page)

Jon clenched his jaw. “I’m fighting a war, Danielle, fighting for freedom.”

She pressed her hands to her ears. She didn’t want to hear any more. “You sound just like Max.”

“Yeah, well, that’s a compliment. Max was a fine chap. How dare you dishonor his memory by marrying the likes of Cameron Murphy? And what about your daughter? You want Jasmin to be raised by Cameron Murphy?”

This was not any of his business. Danielle’s resolve hardened, she lifted her chin.
I made the best decision I could under the circumstances.
“He’s good to her, he’s teaching the girls how to sing.”

“What, for their supper?” Jon banged the wall with his hand, frustration welling within him. “And all he’ll teach them is how to drink themselves under the table.”

“How can you speak about him like that? I thought he was your friend.”

“Who knows him better? Believe me, Danielle. You’ve made a huge mistake.”

“I don’t care what you think.” Danielle held her hands up like a shield.
How dare he judge me?
She took a step back. “He’ll take care of us. And don’t you dare blame me for this. You’re engaged to Victoria.” Danielle stooped to pick up the package she’d dropped. She drew herself up and glared at him, her eyes steeled with cold determination. “We have nothing else to discuss.”

Jon pushed a hand through his hair and cursed. “This life—I guess it’s no bed of roses, is it?”

“No, it never has been.” She turned from him and started for her door.

Jon reached out to her, then let his hand drop. Realizing he’d been trounced by Cameron Murphy, he turned to leave, his heart a heavy stone in his chest.

Danielle slammed the door and leaned into it, tears of anger and frustration streaming from her eyes.
Why hadn’t Jon been clearer in his letters?
Why he misled her? Had he? Or had she been too swift to marry?
And Cameron—she couldn’t believe what Jon had said about him. Cameron made her laugh, he was there to help her, he was an incredible lover, wasn’t that enough? How dare Jon criticize her when he had led her to believe he was getting married!

Danielle wiped her eyes and pushed herself from the door. Moving boxes lined the walls. She had already started to pack their few belongings for their move to Cameron’s Beverly Hills home. She narrowed her eyes. She’d show Jon. And Erica. And everybody.
God help me, I’ll make a go of this marriage.

Danielle tried to push Jon’s visit and its disastrous timing from her mind. Fortified with resolve, she moved her family into Cameron’s home in Beverly Hills on shady, tree-lined Maple Drive, then threw herself into making them comfortable. She was delighted to find a bungalow on the rear of the property. With a bedroom, kitchen, and living room, it was ideal for Marie.

To Danielle’s eye, the imposing English Tudor home was incongruent with its lush tropical gardens, thick with palm trees, ferns, and bird of paradise plants. Immediately she set to work, pulling together the disparate elements into a California version of British Colonial style.

Next to the bungalow, Danielle had the gardener plant a garden with a variety of rose bushes, jasmine, and gardenia, reminiscent of her uncle’s farm in Grasse, and Sofia’s garden in Poland.

To relax, Danielle tended the roses herself. Her thoughts often drifted to memories of her family, of Max, Jean-Claude, and Hélène. She wished Sofia and Philippe could see this garden, thriving so well in the mild climate. Danielle found herself thinking of Nicky, of how he would have enjoyed playing with Liliana and Jasmin. Her son occupied her dreams with increasing frequency. She simply could not accept his death. Could Heinrich have been so cruel as to have lied to her? But no, it was an unfounded hope, she told herself.

As the weeks passed, despite her longing for Jon, and despite his warning of Cameron, Danielle managed to convince herself that she was happy with her new marriage. Cameron’s passion for her continued, and overall, life was vastly improved for her family.

She’d arranged an outpatient treatment program for Marie at a nearby hospital, in hopes that she would respond without resorting to long-term hospitalization. Fortunately, after mere weeks, Danielle saw marked improvement in Marie.

Liliana and Jasmin each had a bedroom, as well as a live-in nanny named Beth to look after them. On Cameron’s urging, Danielle took the girls shopping, filling their rooms with toys and stuffed animals and new clothes. How she’d longed to spoil her girls, to make up for the hardships they’d endured. But one day at a store when Jasmin pleaded for a stuffed monkey, Danielle firmly forbade it. It reminded her too much of the monkey she’d made for Nicky.

Danielle made plans to redecorate the home to suit her young family, disposing of all reminders of the vivacious Erica. “Send the bills to Harry Nelson,” Cameron had told her, explaining that his business manager handled all expenditures.

Though she still adhered to a full work schedule, Danielle’s early mornings were spent reviewing menus with the cook and giving instructions to the housekeeper, the nanny, and the gardener. She had inherited Cameron’s staff, except for the new nanny, and although they were courteous to her, she could tell that they weren’t pleased that their workload had increased with the addition of the new family. When Cameron was single, he’d hardly been home. And the cook, Mrs. Johnson, still spoke reverently of Erica, often preparing Erica’s rich Mexican dishes for Cameron, which prompted Danielle to instruct her to prepare more fresh fruits and vegetables, lean meats and seafood. Danielle was determined to keep her family slim and healthy, even though for the first time in a long time, they had an ample supply of food.

The months flew and before Danielle knew it, the first week of December arrived. She’d decided they would have a proper Christmas this year, unlike the last year’s sad little gathering, and a special Hanukkah celebration for Marie. Danielle was happy that her family was comfortable honoring both faiths.

One morning, Cameron left for an early call at Silverman Studios. Danielle always rose early, before the staff arrived and the children woke. Today she planned to prepare for their holiday cocktail party.

Brushing her hair, she let it fall softly to her shoulders, then applied a rich, ruby red lip rouge and a light veil of Chimère. Peering in the mirror, she noticed a bruise on her shoulder where Cameron had grabbed her the night before. They’d had another argument, but it was nothing, she told herself, a feeling of dismay flushing her cheeks.
That’s just the way Cameron is,
she thought,
he’s passionate in everything he does
.

The truth was, Cameron had been talking about having children with her again. He desperately wanted a son, and again, she had flatly refused. Danielle stared at herself in the mirror.
I can’t,
she thought to herself.
How could I ever replace Nicky?

She slipped a pastel blue satin dressing gown over her nightgown, wincing as she rotated her sore shoulder into the sleeve. She opened the door and made her way downstairs.

Once in the kitchen, she scanned supplies in the walk-in pantry and realized she needed to make a list. She opened a cupboard drawer where she’d seen Mrs. Johnson retrieve pencils and paper.

As she went through the drawer, she was aghast at what she found.

Just then, Mrs. Johnson blustered in, plump and round-faced, her thick grey hair wrapped in a bun, her cheeks pink from exertion. She put the morning milk bottles on the counter, then cried, “What’re you doing in that drawer, ma’am?”

Danielle swung around, clutching a fistful of delinquent grocery bills. “Why haven’t these been paid? They’re all past due. Six months, seven, and here’s some from last year,” she exclaimed, rifling through them. “What are you doing with these? Do Cameron and Mr. Nelson know about this?”

“Of course,” the cook said indignantly. “Mr. Nelson is taking care of them.”

“Is he paying them?”

“No, but I can still charge food on the account.”

“I see.” Danielle pressed her lips together. “Are there other outstanding household bills?”

Mrs. Johnson flushed crimson red. “A few, quite a few, actually.”

Danielle was mortified, but she kept expression from her face. “Get all the unpaid bills. Put them on the dining room table for me.”

She marched to the phone and dialed the number of Cameron’s business manager. “Good morning, Harry. I need to speak with you right away. Will you come by this morning?”

Harry yawned. “Don’t you ever sleep, Danielle?”

“Hardly, Harry, it’s a waste of time.” She motioned to Mrs. Johnson. “We’ll have a pot of fresh coffee for you, and cheese and mushroom omelettes. Come have breakfast, and we’ll discuss business.”

“You sure know the way to a single man’s heart, Danielle. But what’s so urgent?”

“We’ll discuss it when you get here.”

Half an hour later, Danielle opened the door, greeting him with a cup of cinnamon-spiced coffee. Harry was an attractive man, with slightly greying black hair and a fit physique.

“Good morning, Harry. Let’s sit in the dining room.”

Danielle opened a pair of ebony-stained doors to reveal a sweeping mahogany dining table, where stacks of paper were now arranged. She drew aside royal blue velvet draperies. Morning sunlight spilled into the room, glancing off the Waterford crystal chandelier.

Danielle stood at the head of the table. “Have a seat, Harry. Breakfast is almost ready, but first, let’s talk.”

Danielle leaned on the table, her eyes piercing his. She tapped a stack of receipts. “What’s all this about? Mrs. Johnson tells me the grocer hasn’t been paid in more than a year. Is this true?”

Harry sipped his coffee and raised a brow. “It’s true.”

“How can this be?” Without waiting for an answer, she went on, gesturing to other stacks. “And these are for household repairs, laundry, and milk delivery. I assume there must be other debts as well. Am I right?”

“I thought I’d wait until you were settled, but I’ve been meaning to talk with you.” Harry hesitated. “It’s time you knew that Cameron owes...a little...well, there’s no other way of putting it...actually, he’s seriously in debt.”

“How much?”

He cleared his throat. “Three hundred fifty thousand, more or less.”

Danielle gripped the edge of the table.
Three hundred fifty thousand dollars
. To owe that much!
Why, it was utterly unfathomable!
Her
face burned with anger and shame.
Three hundred fifty thousand dollars!

“Why didn’t Cameron tell me?” she demanded. And then she remembered, with a sickening feeling, that Jon and Erica had warned her. Suddenly she felt guilty for the money she’d spent redecorating. How frivolous! “What about the payments on this house?”

Harry touched her hand. “Relax, Danielle. I’m carrying the mortgage on this house, and most of the debt he owes to me. With a couple of hit records, he can easily pay his debts. All he has to do is work. And I don’t mean bit parts in Erica’s movies. He needs to do what really earns money. His music. He just has to work.”

“Then why doesn’t he?” she snapped. She couldn’t imagine owing that much money and continuing to live in the grand style in which they did. Suddenly, she was ashamed for their lifestyle. Champagne, caviar, filet mignon. Why, they couldn’t even pay the grocer!

Harry shrugged. “Because he doesn’t have to, I suppose. Look, I’m guilty, too. People like me make it easy for celebrities, just to count them as clients and brag about it.” He grinned sheepishly. “Still, Cameron has earning potential, especially with you behind him. You’re a smart business woman, Danielle. Look at what you’ve done in the last few months with the line of bank credit I arranged for you. Even if he doesn’t earn money, you can repay his debts.”

Danielle jumped up, seething with rage over Cameron’s irresponsible behavior. She paced the floor, her satin robe flaring behind her.

Suddenly she stopped, then started to laugh. The irony of it, she thought, was that if she was truthful with herself, she had married Cameron for his money. And he was broke. No, not just broke, but so deeply in debt it might take years to pay it all back. And because they were married, she was now responsible for the debt.
How did I miss that?
She laughed until tears streamed down her face.

Harry rose to help her back to the table, clearly concerned. “Sit down, Danielle, you’re upset.”

“Of course I am,” she snapped. Trembling, she sank onto a chair, wiped her face, and considered her options.

She knew what had to be done.

“Take these receipts, Harry, and add them up.” She glanced around, taking in the well-furnished rooms stretching before her. “I insist that these hard-working people be paid immediately. Give me the totals and I’ll have some money for you by the end of the week.” She set her mouth in a resolute line. She had to raise money, and if it meant selling some of Cameron’s antiques or paintings, or the Oriental rugs she had just purchased, that’s what she would do. People talked, and she would have none of it. Not while she was trying to build a respectable business.

“Mrs. Johnson will have breakfast in a few minutes,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” Danielle disappeared into the kitchen and gave Mrs. Johnson instructions, then buzzed the nanny on the intercom and asked her to wake the girls and feed them in the breakfast room. She did not want to be disturbed.

Minutes later, Danielle returned, followed by Mrs. Johnson, who carried breakfast dishes. Danielle had quickly changed into a silver silk blouse and black wool slacks. Though few women wore slacks, except for a handful of stars such as Greta Garbo, Danielle found them comfortable, and made the look feminine.

They ate while Danielle talked about expansion of her House of Bretancourt clothing and accessory line. “In view of all these debts, is the financing still viable?”

“Absolutely. You’re a darn good bet, Danielle.”

She went on to explain the introduction of two new fragrances in the spring, Jour de Bretancourt and Nuit de Bretancourt, perfumes designed to be worn for day and evening, respectively. “Just as one changes clothes, so should one change fragrance to fit the occasion, the season, and the time of day.”