• • •
Angelique stopped and stood still for a moment, contemplating the ocean spread out before her. She had never heard nor felt an ocean. The rumbling waves beckoned her. She pranced toward the water’s edge and into the waves rolling on the shore. She didn’t flinch at the ice-cold water nor did she care if her jeans were getting soaked. Was this real or only another dream?
She inhaled the misty air, tasting the salt. She looked up to scan the blue sky scattered with cotton-puff clouds and raised her arms in thanks to her God for granting her this favor. If she were returned to the Davidsons and their prison she would at least have the memory of this moment to cherish for the rest of her life.
She turned toward the cottage and saw Brian Andrews watching her from the rail of the raised deck. He was the one who had made this moment possible. For that, she would be eternally grateful. She waved at him and giggled like a schoolgirl when he waved back. Flagging her arms, she motioned for him to come down and join her. He raised his arms in mock surrender and shook his head before sauntering down the steps.
She followed his every move, from his confident swagger to the way he held his head erect and alert, as if she were seeing him for the very first time. As he approached she was drawn to his height and toned build. His khaki pants and safari jacket against the backdrop of the sandy beach lent him an exotic air. All she could think of was Lawrence of Arabia and she smiled. She drew a deep breath and hoped it would temper her fluttering heart.
She was drawn to the foam-capped waves undulating over and on to the beach, reaching, beckoning. She waded farther into the surf, the slushy sand and iced water making her tingle. A larger wave kicked up, dousing her with wet spray and she jumped over the waves and laughed at the spontaneity of the experience. If the Davidsons were present, they would be physically dragging her out of the water, fearful of her catching a chill and being unable to perform. She laughed at her rebellion. For the first time in her life she was free to laugh.
“Having fun?” Brian asked from the shore, rolling up his pants legs.
She waved in response and watched him wade into the surf. Casting him a broad smile, she reached down, cupping water in her hands. Rising, she splashed the water on him as he approached and giggled as he jumped back from the chilling jolt.
“Oh, it’s so wonderful.” She flung herself into his arms. “Thank you. Thank you.”
Startled, he welcomed her into his grasp, holding her tenderly as if hugging a child.
“I haven’t done much,” he said.
“You have. You’ve freed me. I’ve had more freedom and fun in these few minutes than I’ve had in twenty-eight years of life.”
“I only helped.” He released his hold on her and stepped back. At arm’s length he surveyed her. “Now look at you. You’re all wet.”
“I know and I don’t care. Freedom feels good, really good,” she said.
• • •
When they returned to the cottage, Brian built a blazing fire in the stone hearth to chase away the musty chill. He gathered twigs and logs from an old woodpile out back, and when he opened the damper was glad the chimney was still sound. The fire added a living glow to the long-neglected living room.
Angelique knelt on the floor by the hearth.
“I’m so cold and hungry,” she said, briskly rubbing her arms with her hands.
“I have to drive into town for provisions,” he replied, dreading the task of leaving her alone and encountering other people.
“I’ll go, too.” She sprang to her feet.
“I don’t think so. It’s best that you stay here for your own safety. No one must suspect you’re here. As it is, I have to remain low-key myself,” he explained, touching his boar’s tooth pendant.
“Are you going to hold me prisoner here?” she asked, looking up at him with soulful eyes.
“No, no, of course not. If you’re discovered, the Davidsons might take you back. We can’t take chances.”
“I’ll kill myself before they take me back,” she swore with loathing.
“Shh . . . Angelique. We’ll talk when I return. Now, you must promise to stay inside, keep the doors locked, and talk to no one.”
Chapter 9
Brian was grateful it was the off-season. If not, the beaches would have been swarming with summer residents and tourists. Perched on the craggy coastline, its natural beauty, whale watching, art galleries and shops, and pristine beaches attracted those tired of the hectic city pace. Most gravitated to the century-old summer cottages and Victorian Bed and Breakfasts lining the coast., but during the off-season only the hardy permanent residents remained. Few in number, most were the descendants of fisherman and whalers who used to trawl the waters before the importation of foreign fish reduced their living. Others were artists who thrived on the creative scenic tranquility. Most kept to themselves making the quiet quaint town an ideal hideaway or, as he felt, a hideout.
As he sped down the deserted sandy road toward town, he couldn’t believe that he pulled it off. He had run from headhunters in New Guinea and charging elephants in Botswana, even from Colombian drug lords, but aiding Angelique’s escape from New York had been his greatest feat and he felt proud. Though the escape was Angelique’s idea—what if she changed her mind once authorities and the Davidsons were involved? The Davidsons still wielded power. Kidnapping was a capital charge. Kidnapping the world’s greatest singer? He didn’t want to imagine it He shook his head. Sam would never believe it. Neither would Stacey. Brian was alone with his secret, the mysterious Angelique.
• • •
When he returned to the cottage an hour later, his arms were laden with paper grocery bags. He entered the living room, surprised Angelique had removed all the sheets covering the furniture and dusted away the cobwebs hanging from the bead board ceiling like fine lace. She had added wood to the fire and her jeans and sweatshirt were spread before the hearth to dry.
Angelique sat nestled on the couch cozily wrapped in a patchwork quilt, a quilt his mother had stitched many years ago. As she looked up to greet him a corner of the quilt slipped down her shoulder and arm, exposing porcelain flesh. Grasping the quilt around her chest and waist, she rose. A hint of lean leg peeped out from beneath the wrap.
He was relieved to see she was well, but frightened by the stirrings within his body when he saw how radiant she looked. He took a deep breath, assuring himself he wasn’t naked beneath that old quilt. She was so backward and innocent; she surely didn’t know what effect she was having on him.
“Let me help you,” she offered in her silky voice, releasing one hand while the other still gripped the folds of the quilt. When she took a step forward the fabric slid off her other shoulder, baring the swell of her creamy breasts.
“Help me?” Brian asked, choking on his words, with lurid thoughts of how she could really help in releasing the tension in his groin.
“The bags . . . they will fall.”
“Oh . . . the bags. Right. I . . . I can manage.”
He scurried to the kitchen. After setting the bags on the Formica counter he brushed the perspiration on his brow. How long he could hold out in a secluded cottage with a temptation like Angelique?
After putting the groceries away he went out to his car and returned with a large plastic bag. He handed the floral-print sack to Angelique, hoping the contents would please her and cover her up more modestly. He didn’t need temptation.
“For you,” he said with a sigh.
“Me?” she asked, her eyes lighting up like a child receiving a present.
She sank in a nearby chair, securing the quilt with one hand while opening the package with the other. She pulled out an aqua jogging suit and a nightshirt and smiled.
“Sure beats a quilt,” he said, clearing his throat as well as his mind.
“Thank you. You’re so kind,” she said, a wistful dreaminess in her voice. “They are lovely and will be just fine. “
She rose, and grasping the bag
rushed into the bedroom. After, she joined him, wearing the jogging suit, in the kitchen where he was preparing ham and cheese sandwiches and opening a carton of potato salad.
After the simple meal they sat on the couch munching chocolate chip cookies. She sat next to him; calm and unaffected like an old friend, yet they had known each other less than twenty-four hours.
“Everything is so good,” she said, stuffing another Famous Amos cookie in her mouth. “I was never allowed to eat these things.”
“Why not?”
“The Davidsons were afraid I’d put on weight. An angel, after all, should not be fat.”
“So, the Davidsons came up with the angel gimmick?” he asked, the reporter coming out.
“Gimmick?” She stared at him, wide-eyed.
“You know, a ploy, a trick.”
“I know what a gimmick is and I am not one. I assure you I am what I am, and I have nothing to hide.” She crossed her arms on the defensive.
“Wait a minute.” He wanted to laugh, but forced a straight face. “You really believe you’re an angel?”
“I don’t know what I am. I don’t know why I look the way I do or why I have this voice. I don’t even know where I came from.” Her voice broke and she choked back tears.
“I’m sorry.” The topic seemed to hit a raw nerve.
“You’re a reporter. You’ve been trained to doubt. You can’t help it.” She dabbed her eyes with her slender fingers.
“So why did you choose a reporter to help you?”
“Because you can listen to my story and reveal the truth to the world. As an investigative journalist, perhaps you can help me find out who and what I am. This is the only way I can truly be free and in control of my life.”
“Why me?”
“I have always admired your work in Our World. I feel I can trust you.”
“As a journalist I’m not the safest person to tell your story.”
“I just want you to tell the truth.”
“Is the world ready for the truth?”
“I will always sing. Music is my life. The fame and the money are secondary. I have reaped no benefits from either. So, Brian Andrews, pull out your laptop. Angelique wants to tell her story.”
• • •
Angelique wasn’t sure when he fell asleep, but for a moment she thought she must have been dreaming. After all, she dreamt of escape for so long. How else could she account for the vivid thoughts of Brian Andrews rescuing her from The Plaza, the pre-dawn drive to his parents’ remote cottage, and her agreeing to an exclusive interview?
When she fully awakened and turned, she remembered it wasn’t a dream. She lay on the couch snuggled at his side. His head rested against the curved armrest. His face was in peaceful sleep, his breathing a shallow whisper. For a moment she just stared at his reclining figure in disbelief. As she watched him slumber she wondered how long they could live in peaceful obscurity.
“Bonjour,” she whispered,
“Good morning,” he replied as he opened his eyes and met her gaze with a smile. She stared at his handsome face, intrigued the night’s growth of stubble and the way a stray lock of hair draped across his forehead.
“I talked so much last night I must have surely bored you. No one ever listened to me before,” she said.
“Angelique, it would be impossible for you to bore anyone.”
“How about breakfast?” he asked, standing. He stretched out his long arms overhead and yawning.
“You know, it’s rather unusual, I’ve ever been alone with a man before.”
“I apologize if I’ve made you feel uncomfortable.”
“Au contraire. You make me feel too comfortable. I mean, I feel so strange because I’ve never been with anyone, but the Davidsons. This . . . this feeling is new for me.” She looked up at him.
“Freedom is frightening. Don’t worry. Fear is only part of being human.”
“If that is what I am.”
“Oh, Angelique, you’ve been sheltered for a very long time. You have so much to learn and experience. There’s a whole world out there waiting for you,” he said, using his arms to dramatize the point.
“But I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Well, you’re in luck,” he assured. “You may be hidden away here, but this is your opportunity to adjust to life away from the Davidsons, their guards, and the stage.”
“Sadly, it is the only life I’ve ever known.”
“You need to discover yourself. Only when you feel comfortable with yourself will you be at ease in the world.”
Chapter 10
Angelique was addicted to the beach. Brian didn’t understand how she could sit for hours with her feet dug into the sand, her eyes transfixed on the rolling ocean waves. She seemed hypnotized by the in and out motion of the white-capped waves and their lulling sound. Nature’s lullaby.
During breaks from editing her story on his laptop computer, he would stand on the deck, leaning over the rail, observing her. Angelique had such an unadulterated innocence and wonder about the world. She was like a baby, wide-eyed, lips parted. Yet so much that he had taken for granted seemed bewildering to her.
With Angelique, even touching a common seashell had new meaning. She would balance the shell in her hand as if weighing it, analyzing each angle as if it were a rare art object. Her slender fingers would caress the bumpy surface as if it were covered in fine silk, her index finger winding through the smooth curved opening. After, she would lift the shell up to her head, the opening covering her ear. Her eyes would close as if in a trance from a sound privy to her. She would cradle the shell before gently setting it down in the sand, allowing it to be washed away, relinquishing it to the sea.
Meanwhile, he felt like a sailor shipwrecked on a deserted island with an enchanting sea nymph. At times he would forget reality, but there was enough reality around to shake him up and out of his spell. He knew it was only a matter of time before their tranquil seclusion ended. He also knew he was biding his time until he could work out a strategy to safely release her story to the world. Angelique’s revelations had so far been unsettling. The magic she had projected on stage had hidden her own private hell. He wondered how anyone could harm such an endearing woman. The abuses she had endured were difficult to listen to. His throat would start burning, then his stomach, until the rage made him want to punch something. Like Morris Davidson’s face. Brian knew that he wanted to protect her at all costs and would. He wished he could personally confront Edwina and Morris Davidson and give them what they deserved. Maybe one day he would be given the opportunity.
During the first few days of their escape nothing in the media indicated her disappearance. Brian avoided using technology for fear of being traced. He turned off his cell phone and resisted using the Internet. Instead, they listened daily to his wind-up radio; press reports only stated that Angelique had taken ill, forcing her to cancel her engagements. The lie was suspicious.
“I assure you the Davidsons are using their underground network of detectives and private investigators to comb New York City in search of me,” Angelique said. “I’m sure they reasoned that without money and with my unique appearance I couldn’t have gone far.”
Brian knew the search would fan out. Mo and Edwina had the resources to stop at nothing to reclaim their prize. He also knew, soon, the summer residents and tourists would be returning to invade Cape James and its sandy beaches. The pristine quiet would turn into chaos. He couldn’t keep Angelique at the cottage undetected when the crowds came. There had to be a way of releasing the manuscript to Sam at Our World while assuring Angelique’s freedom and safety.
He also had to be concerned about his own safety. As trusting as Angelique was, he couldn’t guarantee her loyalties. The Davidsons had held a strong influence over her for most of her life, kept her as their personal puppet. He wasn’t certain if all the strings had been severed. Would Angelique stand by him or be persuaded to defect? She could easily return to her ol
d life. His life would be over. He could find himself jailed for kidnapping. Who would the courts believe? Him or the revered Angelique?
He was troubled by Angelique’s recent emotional outbursts and threats. She had been insisting on more freedom, insisting on being taken to town and given a tour of the Cape.
“You are a wanted woman,” he had reminded her. “How could you go anywhere unrecognized?”
“You can’t hold me prisoner here,” she protested.
“It’s only temporary. Can’t you see? If you’re discovered, you’ll be writing your own ticket back to the Davidsons.”
“Non! Never! There must be a way.” She held her steepled fingers up to her lips, pondering. As if a lightning bolt struck, she jumped up and screamed, “I know! I’ll only let you go into town alone if you promise to buy me a few things.”
So Brian drove into town alone, thankful that, so far, no one had remembered him from his youth. He acted like a grinning tourist, new and entranced by scenic Cape James. He perused Angelique’s list, a little nervous about its content. He bought everything, though, without question. Keeping Angelique happy was important.
When he returned to the cottage, she greeted him by grabbing the bag from his hand. She scurried into the bathroom like a child just given new toys. To his astonishment she remained in there for several hours. He wondered if, maybe, he just didn’t understand women.
When she emerged, he was taken aback. The change in her appearance was so remarkable he audibly gasped. She paraded into the living room and pivoted like a fashion model. A salon couldn’t have done a better job with her transformation. Her long tresses had been cut into a chin-length bob with feathery bangs and dyed a rich chestnut. With the application of make-up base, blush, eye shadow, liner, mascara, and lipstick she looked like a new woman. A snug mint t-shirt highlighted the rounded curves of her breasts. The fringed denim shorts, cut from her blue jeans, revealed her smooth, slender thighs.
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