by Natasha Boyd
My head shook with a will of its own, but I couldn’t answer.
Her hand squeezed mine.
I blew out the long, slow, steadying breath. “It doesn’t matter.”
“He deserves to find love again.”
I closed my eyes against the burn of tears and nodded. “He does.”
“You must forgive him. He is not easy. He was always a wary child. His father … and myself, if I am honest … we did not show him the best example of love. It was … how do you say?” She pursed her lips. “It was … currency? We used love, and Xavier’s love, against each other.”
I winced internally and nodded in understanding at the way she gave her explanation as a question, due to the language insecurity. But I turned her explanation over in my mind.
If Xavier didn’t feel worth loving … if he didn’t think he had emotional value, or wasn’t worth investing in, or being a risk worth taking … or worse, if he didn’t feel he was worth living for, then yes, perhaps that was how he saw it. Maybe even the way he gave it. “I agree he thinks he doesn’t deserve love.”
“He blames himself for Arriette.” Madame’s patrician profile was silhouetted as we sped along the highway, streetlights glowing amber, casting her in sharp relief.
“Yes,” I agreed, and after a brief hesitation, added, “I got the impression from him you did not approve of her.”
“I should have been better about accepting Arriette when she was alive. I always thought he was too good for her. Perhaps a mother’s pride. But in the end I was right. He had to fight that battle alone. He didn’t feel he had my support when things got bad. And of course when she died he probably thought I was saying … I told you so …” She shook her head.
“Have—have you told him your regrets?”
“Not in so many words. Besides, their union produced Dauphine.”
“I think he probably needs to hear it. Maybe not the part about where you think you were right. I think he already knows that.”
She gave a humorless laugh, then sighed. “I have not been the best mother. And with the terrible example his own parents set, it’s no wonder he chose poorly.”
My chest squeezed. “He loves you. And no one is perfect. We all do the best we can,” I soothed. And suddenly I ached for my own mom. She’d said similar things to me growing up when she and I had crossed wires, about how she was just doing the best she could. And she did. I never doubted her devotion. Even when she chose Nicholas De La Costa as my stepfather.
Madame patted my knee. “Yes. I hope you will remember your own words of wisdom when you and Xavier are working out your differences. When this is all over and my granddaughter is safe. We all do the best we can.”
I narrowed my eyes at her emotional outmaneuvering, but she pretended not to notice. “He accused me of being involved in what happened today,” I said instead.
Her inhale was sharp. “Non.”
“Oui,” I responded.
She flicked her hand through the air. “Ridiculous!”
“Oui,” I repeated, waiting for the inevitable question of why he might have thought that with a hint of suspicion. None came. Instead she said, “He is looking for an excuse to set you away from his heart. And that tells me all I need to know.”
She picked up my hand in hers again. “After we have Dauphine back in our arms, please … please give him a chance. Love is … true and real. And deep love is … so rare. I am only just discovering it myself. I saw the way my son looked at you yesterday when he thought none of us would notice and,” she caught my eyes and held them, “and the way you looked at him. You have been … healing for him. For Dauphine. Real love from the right person will do that.”
Thinking of all that had passed between Xavier and me, and how little time we’d really had to cement who we were to each other before a crisis showed me just how ill-built our connection had been, I steadied my voice. “Sometimes love doesn’t come fast enough. And sometimes it’s not enough.”
“And sometimes love is all it takes.” She winked cheekily, even while her shoulders were still tense with fear. Neither of us let go of each other’s hand.
The car left the highway and a roundabout put us on a two-lane road. We sped up the hills and sharp turns in the failing light. It was almost nine p.m. Somewhere to the west the sun was about to set. Every few minutes Madame would silence her phone, unwilling to take a call and risk missing one from her son. In this instance, no news did not feel like good news.
The car slowed around a bend lined with tall, pointy cypress trees. Then we pulled onto a white gravel driveway in front of two towering wrought iron gates between two stucco pillars. The gates silently swung open, and then we were moving again, purring through them into a manicured estate. There were forests either side of us, but the road was bordered with small hedges and every few yards a topiary tree full of white roses. They gave way to lines of lavender as the trees cleared, and cresting a small hill, there was suddenly a sweeping manor house. Low, maybe two stories with an attic, but swung extravagantly out to both sides. It was aged stucco with neatly edged plum vine and a sturdy slate roof. The car did a slow turn and crunched to a halt outside the large wooden double front door.
Outside, the evening was filled with the scent of lavender and the sound of cicadas. Astrid and Jorge went inside, turning on lights. “Xavier’s housekeeper is away so Astrid will prepare our rooms,” Madame said.
“I’ll help,” I offered. I needed something to do or go crazy. Inside, the entryway soared up two stories with stucco walls, aged wooden beams, and terra-cotta floors. Astrid jogged up the tiled stairs, and I followed. I helped her put sheets on two queen beds in side by side rooms that were prettily decorated in blue and white and yellow and white respectively. Then at the end of a hall was clearly Dauphine’s room. A white canopy bed with fairy lights and covered in stuffed animals. Astrid peeled back the pale lavender coverlet and we made up the bed with fresh sheets. We worked quietly side by side, her English and my French unable to provide much conversation over the mute fear that something might go wrong, and Dauphine might not come home.
Downstairs, I could hear Madame and Jorge, and soon the smell of baking bread wound up the stairs. My stomach growled. On the side table was a picture in a frame. I stepped closer and picked it up. Dauphine was small, maybe five or six. Her mother, a slender and exotic looking stunner, her long hair falling in a silken cascade over one shoulder, knelt next to her daughter, an arm around her shoulder. They both smiled the same smile into the camera. Dauphine’s was missing two front teeth, but there was no mistaking she was this woman’s daughter. It must be a painful reminder for Xavier to see Arriette in his daughter every day.
Astrid cleared her throat, indicating she was waiting for me.
Following her, I entered the final bedroom. It had windows and a balcony across the back wall, but the space was dominated by a king-sized bed done in flax linen in shades of dried tobacco leaf. It was cozy and masculine and smelled of Xavier. The unique scent of his skin mixed with salt and cedar. I blinked, feeling lightheaded, a wave of sadness burning my throat.
My legs felt weak with the urge to crawl into the bed, surrounded by his scent, and wait for his return.
Realizing I was standing still, staring at the bed, I shook my head. Astrid gave me a sad and knowing smile before pointing to an empty shelf and saying something in French. I gathered there were no spare sheets in the closet, or they were already on the bed. I wasn’t sure which. She straightened the bed, and then we went back downstairs.
Jorge was halfway up with Madame’s valise and nodded to me. “Any news?” I asked as I passed.
“Madame is speaking with Monsieur Pascale now.”
I pulled out my phone and rounded the corner into a large charming kitchen.
There was a text from a number I didn’t recognize.
I have her. We will not be back until late. X.
Xavier.
I gave a gasp of relief as I locked
eyes with Madame. She was smiling and nodding, her phone to her ear as she caught my eye.
Feeling dizzy with relief, I slumped into a chair at the large wooden kitchen table. I responded to several texts from Andrea asking for an update.
I was going to hug Dauphine so tight I’d have to be careful not to crack a bone in her tiny bony.
And he’d texted me. That had to mean he didn’t think I was involved any more, surely?
Chapter Forty-Four
Sounds permeated my consciousness, and I blinked my eyes open. A small lamp threw shadows up the stucco walls.
I’d fallen asleep where I sat in an armchair, waiting for news of Dauphine. My back was stiff. I sat up and stretched, rolling my neck. Looking over, I saw Madame had made her way from her armchair to the couch where she snored softly. After Madame had received word from Xavier that he had been reunited with Dauphine but that they were still dealing with the police, we had had a dinner of soup and bread at the kitchen table with Astrid and Jorge. Then we’d come in here to wait.
The sound of a heavy door opening reminded me that I’d been woken up by sounds. I hurriedly made my way to Madame’s side and shook her awake gently. “Madame. I think they are home.” As soon as she blinked up at me, I left her and hurried to the doorway into the entrance hall.
Evan was holding the door open and the tall figure of Xavier, his arms cradling a sleeping Dauphine, carefully negotiated through the opening.
I stifled a sob with my hand, instantly bursting into tears upon seeing her safe. Hurrying forward, eyes on her, I approached and gently touched her head, giving it a gentle kiss before stepping back.
Xavier’s face, tired and grim, gave me a single nod.
Before stepping away, I squeezed his arm where he held her, pouring every emotion I had into it since I couldn’t leap into his arms and hug him.
Then Madame was there, and a series of relieved and excited whispers in French and more tears caused the noise level to grow. Dauphine stirred, her forehead creasing.
Xavier shushed her and inclined his head for the stairs.
I bounded quietly ahead of him and headed for Dauphine’s room but realized my mistake when Xavier headed for his own bedroom and then laid his daughter down gently on one side of his bed. Silly me. I should have realized he’d rather not let her out of his sight. Especially not knowing what she might have been through and if she’d wake up in the night. He wouldn’t want her to feel alone.
Working quietly alongside him, I unbuckled her sandals, noting her bare feet were dusty and dirty. The dress she’d worn was soft enough to sleep in, but I doubted she’d want to wake up in it and be reminded of her ordeal. Madame must have had the same thought because she appeared behind us with a pale green nighty with little mermaids on it.
Dauphine’s hair was tangled, and I’d have to help her brush it out in the morning. I smoothed it back before kissing her forehead gently, tears of relief burning the back of my eyes.
“Was she hurt?” I whispered to him, terrified of the answer.
He paused and met my eyes. So much seemed to flash through his—pain, yearning, apologies, and things I couldn’t decipher that looked like someone who’d stared into the abyss of hell and made it out by the grace of God. Then he shook his head and went back to his task.
My breath released with gusty relief.
Stepping back and melting toward the doorway, I left Xavier and his mother tucking Dauphine in.
In the blue and white room that was supposed to be mine, I closed the door and let out a bone weary sigh. In the ensuite bathroom, simply and beautifully appointed in white marble and blue Moroccan tile, I stared at my reflection.
What a day. My hair had almost dried in its bun. My skin looked pale and blotchy despite the tan I knew should be there, and my eyes looked puffy and exhausted from crying. I opened the drawers in the vanity and found a small airline kit in the last one. Inside was a tiny toothbrush and toothpaste. Assuming it had been left here for an unprepared guest, I gratefully brushed my teeth and rinsed my face. I’d have to sleep in the t-shirt I’d thrown on in Corsica earlier today. It felt like a lifetime ago. Looking at my phone, I saw it was around three in the morning.
I wanted to sleep, but I was also wired and wanting to find out what had happened to Dauphine. Inside, I was torn. I knew Madame would probably have Xavier give her as much of a debrief as he could tonight, and I wanted to be there for it. But perhaps I should just leave them to be a family. I couldn’t shake the icy way he’d looked at me earlier today when he thought I was involved and the way he’d instantly assumed my guilt. Growing up, my dad always told me that how people behaved in a crisis was the true test of their character. Today had shown me that Xavier didn’t trust easily. Maybe not at all. It helped me understand why he was friends with the people he worked with. But also that he was a father before anything, and that was admirable. It was heroic, even. If only all the men of the world took their fatherly duties as seriously as Xavier, perhaps the world would feel safer.
My father had given up fatherhood through no fault of his own when he’d died suddenly. I had to acknowledge the part of me that for many years, irrationally, blamed him for leaving us. I felt betrayed. Let down. But mostly, I was angry at my father for not fighting harder to live. I’d spent several months reading everything I could find about people seeing the light and then turning back for another chance at life, convinced if only Daddy had told them how much he loved me that he’d have been allowed another chance.
Every night, I wept and argued with God. At one point, my twelve-year-old self, only a little older than Dauphine, had asked God whether if I’d been a better daughter, less willful and more loving and appreciative, if maybe, perhaps, Daddy wouldn’t have died. Then, of course, I’d gotten a stepfather who didn’t take his fatherly duties seriously at all, in fact had used us as a shield of respectability, leaving my mother and me almost destitute and our reputation in tatters.
No, Xavier’s distrust of everyone and everything for his daughter’s sake, even at my expense, only served to make me admire him more. Understand him more. Love him more.
He was the kind of man I’d choose to have a family with, I admitted to myself. And it had nothing to do with his means and everything to do with him.
Dammit. My eyes filled again, and I gripped the sink and squeezed my eyes closed. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to come to France and leave my heart behind. Xavier and his daughter meant everything to me. Everything. I wanted them for my own. How could I leave them voluntarily?
I heard the soft voice of Madame and the rougher cadence of Xavier. They were probably discussing what had happened and how Dauphine had been found.
I could always find out tomorrow.
Tomorrow.
I let down my hair with a sigh, brushing my fingers through it and then braiding it loosely.
Tomorrow I would hug that dear little mermaid, then I’d have to rescue my things and try to get home. I didn’t even know what day it was. Evan had mentioned something about flight availability later in the week. But then Madame had invited me to stay. God, I was so torn and so adrift.
There was a quiet knock on my door. My stomach tightened.
“Josie?” Madame’s voice called softly, and I tried not to feel disappointment it wasn’t Xavier. “Tu vas bien?”
I padded to the door and opened it. “Oui. I’m okay.”
She cocked her head to the side, assessing me. “Would you like to come downstairs? I know it is late, but we will hear the news of what happened. Oui?”
“Merci.” I nodded and followed her downstairs.
Evan, dressed in distressed jeans and a white polo, sat in the chair where I’d fallen asleep. He was leaning forward, resting his forearms on his elbows. Xavier was standing by the bookshelves, leaning his fists on a table. He looked exhausted and shell-shocked—not relieved as I’d imagined—as if everything he knew could no longer be counted on.
M
adame and I perched on the sofa.
“Alors,” Madame began. “Qu'est-ce qui s’est passé?”
“We will talk in English for Josie and Evan,” Xavier said.
“Yes, of course.” Madame shook her head. “So what happened? How did they get to her?”
I could tell she was still blaming herself, and I squeezed her hand. My gesture didn’t escape Xavier’s notice.
“We won’t know all of it until the police have been through the surveillance tapes,” Evan said, “or Dauphine can tell us. But she isn’t saying much.”
Poor girl was probably in shock and exhausted.
“There isn’t much surveillance footage in that part of the marina due to the recent construction so whatever Dauphine shares will be critical in the case against Michello.”
“Maybe she will talk tomorrow,” Xavier said.
“Where did you find her?” I asked.
Evan explained that he’d known about a boat Michello had been sleeping on since getting out of prison because he’d been having him followed just to keep an eye on him. “He took Dauphine there with the promise of ice cream and pictures of Arriette—that’s how we think he got her to trust him. What we are piecing together is how Michello knew Dauphine was with her grandmother. Someone must have informed him of our movements.”
My stomach clenched tightly. And I looked to Xavier, who dropped his eyes from mine. So this was it. I was still the suspect? Grief almost felled me.
“We think it’s Rod,” Evan went on.
Wait.
What?
“Rodney?” Madame asked, shocked.
“What?” I asked. “Rod, as in the deck hand, oi-all-right-mate-Rod? No.” I shook my head in bewilderment. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly.” I swallowed. “Would he?” And here I should just be happy I wasn’t the suspect anymore … but Rod? Oh my God. Poor Xavier. We’d all trusted him. “How … why do you think that?”
Evan pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked exhausted too, and like he realized he shouldered much of the blame. “We don’t think he did it on purpose. But, when I offered him the job a few years ago, he was … let’s just say he was headed down the wrong path, with the wrong people, and his mom is a family friend. I knew he was a good kid, just needed direction and gainful employment. But I’ve always kept one eye open with him just in case—afraid for the right amount of money someone might get to him. I also detected a feed from the Wi-Fi on the boat a few days ago. Someone had obviously opened a bad link and well, some of Xavier’s business documents were compromised. Luckily, we think they only got a fraction before it was detected. When I asked each of the staff, Rod was acting all … off. Not much, but enough that I pressed him. He said he’d been approached a few weeks ago by a “total ten”—his words not mine—and spent the night with her. He almost missed the boat, showed up in the wee hours. Anyway the next day, she texted him and sent a link. Thinking it was a nude, he clicked.” Evan’s eyes rolled. “Not a nude of course. It was a wildlife picture. And yeah, bobs-your-uncle, we got ourselves some malware on the Wi-Fi.”