by Susan Wiggs
“My momma...” Her chin trembled.
“She wanted you to be safe,” he told her, guessing now but knowing that was a parent’s main concern. As he spoke, he took the girl’s damp hand and started walking. He didn’t hurry. They looked like a brother and sister, out for a stroll. Completely innocent.
The girl was quiet, so he added, “Your mother urged you to run away from the brownshirts, didn’t she?”
The child said nothing, so he took her silence as assent. “My parents wanted the same for me. They said if soldiers ever came around, I should run away as fast and as far as I can. And that’s what I did.”
The girl squeezed his hand. The tiny gesture nearly undid him. What kind of crazy world did they live in, where parents had to teach their children means of escape rather than their multiplication tables or the books of the New Testament?
“Do you have friends or relatives you can visit?” he asked. Some families had pre-devised elaborate escape plans and contingency arrangements.
“My Mor Mor has a cottage, up by the seaside.”
“Where?” he asked.
“It’s called Helsingør.”
Magnus kept walking. “I know the place. I’ll take you there. Don’t be afraid.”
She nodded. “I’m not.”
“There are people who care about your family and want to help. I’m one of them. Do you like boating, Annelise?”
“Oh, yes. Papa likes to take me out in the wherry when the weather is fine.”
Magnus had never helped with an escape before. He might even be wrong about his plan. Perhaps the four-kilometer paddle to safety was a myth circulating through the Resistance to give them hope; he couldn’t be sure. For the girl’s sake, he had to try to make the crossing.
He’d heard of a special operation, deeply secret, tasked with ferrying Resistance workers on the run out of Denmark, across the Strait of Øresund to Sweden...and safety. Thus far, the Germans had left the Jews of Denmark alone, but rumors swirled that they might one day be rounded up and shipped off to the work camps.
The escape route could be a myth; he would soon find out. The rescue effort operated clandestinely from the seaside town of Helsingør, made famous as “Elsinore” by the English bard Shakespeare. From there, the shores of Sweden could be seen on a clear day.
At the dock, he spotted a pair of soldiers loitering around. They challenged him, of course. They clearly had nothing better to do.
“Can’t a fellow take his sister boating on a fine afternoon?” he asked with just a bit of cheekiness. “Or is that now prohibited?”
“Watch your tongue, boy,” one of the soldiers said. “Move along, and don’t make trouble.”
Just you wait, thought Magnus, leading the Winther girl along by the hand. Without even a twinge of conscience, he selected a nicely polished wherry moored among the other boats. He picked it because it looked sturdy and also because it had canvas lifejackets stowed in the bow and a single gaff-rig sail for catching the wind.
“Put this on,” he said, silently willing the girl to refrain from crying or acting scared. He needed the soldiers to believe they were going boating, nothing more.
She complied in silence, buckling on the canvas vest. Either she understood, or perhaps shock had set in. On some level, she probably realized she might never see her parents again.
Taking hold of her under her arms, he swung her high up over the gunwale of the boat, saying, “In you go.” Her feet in their scuffed brown shoes looked very small against the vast blue sky.
He untied the wherry and shoved away from the dock. Then he started to row at a leisurely pace. His plan was not well formed in his mind. Helsingør was too far away to reach, at least forty kilometers to the north. His immediate goal was to get to Saltholm, a flat island inhabited mainly by geese and wild swans. From there, they might be able to reach Sweden if there was a decent wind and they could duck the patrol boats.
He faced the little Winther girl and was startled by her expression. Behind the terror and grief was something else—gratitude and relief. Thinking about the covered trucks and hordes of soldiers who had surrounded her house, Magnus realized what he had done. He had saved a life.
He thought about what the Teacher had told him about finding a purpose and a reason for living. In embracing the Resistance and disrupting the German war machine, he had found a purpose. Now, regarding the helpless little girl in the boat, he had discovered the other part of it. He had discovered something to live for.
Seventeen
“Isabel is in denial,” Tess said to her mother that evening. The two of them were on the patio, setting the long rustic table for dinner. Through the arched doorway to the kitchen they could see Isabel at the stove, adding hot broth and white wine to a wide copper pan of risotto. Ernestina was slicing tomatoes on a tray next to slices of fresh bread.
“I never knew denial could be so delicious,” Shannon murmured.
Tess poured water from a big stoneware pitcher. “I tried to tell her the meeting at the bank hadn’t gone well, but she didn’t want to hear it.”
“Didn’t you say the bank had left the door open for delaying the foreclosure?”
Tess pressed her back teeth together in frustration. She’d been so excited, so certain the possibility of a priceless treasure would turn everything around. But that hadn’t been the case. “Sure, but that’s probably putting off the inevitable. According to Dominic, he’s been holding the proceeding at bay for years, like the kid with his finger in the dike.”
“And you believe him?” Shannon asked.
In Shannon’s experience men were not to be trusted. This fact always made Tess a little sad, because it made for a lonely life, but that was Shannon’s choice. She was beautiful in a way Tess would never be, and maybe this contributed to Shannon’s issues with men. When Tess was growing up, men would come into Shannon’s life, and some of them were wonderful and did everything they could in order to stay. They would bring presents for Tess, or they’d play her favorite games or take her on outings. Sometimes she would pause for a moment, and a funny emotion would wash over her: This is what it feels like to have a father.
Inevitably, he would stop coming around. When Tess would ask, Shannon usually gave the vaguest of replies. “We wanted different things” was her favorite, and Tess heard it so frequently, she eventually stopped asking.
“I do,” she told her mother now. “I do believe Dominic.”
“Believe what about him?” Isabel asked, bringing out a big salad with edible flowers tossed in.
“Isn’t it true that Dominic held off Magnus’s creditors until the bank failed and was taken over?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Isabel admitted. “Grandfather never talked about it. It wouldn’t surprise me, though. Dominic rescues people. It’s something I’ve observed through the years. He always seems to be bailing someone out in one way or other. He probably doesn’t even know he’s doing it. He once tried to rescue me, but it didn’t work out.”
“What did you need rescuing from?”
She offered a half smile. “Myself.”
“If you’re saying I need rescuing,” Tess said, “you’re wrong. And if he thinks I need to be saved, he’s wrong, too.”
“Well, he definitely was on a rescue mission when he married Lourdes.”
Lourdes. Even the name of his ex sounded exotic, slightly mysterious. Tess’s imagination went into overdrive as she tried to picture the woman, named after a town where daily miracles occurred. “Was she in some kind of trouble?”
Isabel ducked her head. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Come on, Isabel. You can’t bring up the guy’s ex-wife without filling me in. Was there a big drama?”
“Not really. She was just...really stressed out by law school—”
“She’s a lawyer?”
Isabel nodded. “They married when Dominic was in the navy. It was a formal military ceremony, followed by a reception at the Maldonado
estate. I made a carrot cake with raisins and Tortuga rum.”
She set down the salad and expertly gave it a toss, her movements smooth and assured. She misinterpreted Tess’s stare. “You don’t like the salad?”
Edible flowers, Tess reflected. “How did I go from subsisting on Red Bull and microwave burritos to having edible flowers in my salad?”
Isabel visibly winced. “That was your diet?”
“Nearly every day.”
“I’ve never actually tasted Red Bull. Or microwave burritos, for that matter.”
“I think the point is, you don’t taste it. You just bolt it down and go on with your day.”
Shannon spread her arms, palms up. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t teach her that.”
No, thought Tess, you didn’t. The vehemence of her own thoughts both startled and dismayed her. “And how can you be so neat about tossing a salad?” she asked, softening the moment with a laugh. “Whenever I try that, things get tossed on the floor.”
“It’s the size of the bowl,” Isabel pointed out. “It needs to be more than twice the size of the salad. And you toss with a light touch, so things don’t get bruised. Here, give it a try.”
Tess gamely stepped up and took the large wooden spoon and fork.
“Gentle but steady,” Isabel coached her.
“Got it,” Tess said, and discovered her sister was right. “Size does matter,” she added. “But now I’m wondering how we went from talking about financial ruin to tossing organic flowers.”
Isabel shrugged. “It’s a gift.”
Over dinner, Tess told them in detail about the meeting with Dominic. “I didn’t expect him to believe my crazy story,” she said. “It’s weird that he did. Unfortunately, we didn’t hand him the main thing he needs in order to extend the deadline.”
“The Fabergé egg,” Shannon said.
“It’s such a long shot to think we can track it down in time to put off the foreclosure.”
Tess felt so torn between the urge to stay at Bella Vista and the need to get back to her own life. Each time she tried to escape, something happened to make her stay. She wondered why she didn’t just turn her back on the whole situation.
The Navarros came to dinner, along with a couple of workers. Oblivious of the tenuous state of affairs, people were laughing, talking, relaxing, enjoying Isabel’s delicious food. The energy was something she’d never felt before. They were acting like a family, and there was something terribly seductive about that. Even though she was still a stranger here, she felt included in a way that had always eluded her...until now. There, she thought. That’s why I can’t walk away.
“How do you know it’s a long shot?” Isabel asked, passing a platter of grilled squash and squash blossoms stuffed with quinoa and herbs. “Maybe you gave him exactly what he needs.”
Tess thought about Dominic and what he needed, and the seductive spell intensified.
She went upstairs to her room, but she couldn’t seem to relax. She paced back and forth, feeling an unpleasant frisson of anxiety. Her disorder. She hated having a disorder.
She was supposed to see a physician and make major lifestyle changes. Instead, she’d lost herself in the situation at Bella Vista. She went to the window, open to the autumn sky, and watched the sun go down, leaving behind a glorious smear of color. Breathe, she reminded herself. Breathe in, breathe out. The air smelled of ripe apples and dry grass and flowers, a soothing combination.
Yet she didn’t find it soothing. Her mind churned, and she debated with herself about staying here or going back to her life. She couldn’t stand the idea of leaving without knowing what would happen here. In work and life both, she was all about uncovering the facts. She was determined to find out what Dominic was doing with the information she’d given him. She wasn’t going to be able to calm herself down until she found out.
On impulse, she grabbed her phone, then remembered the lack of a signal. She could always use the landline. On the other hand, she could simply go to see him in person. Wasn’t that what people did around here? She tried to resist, but the idea of seeing him again, away from the bank, away from everyone, was too tempting. Calling herself a smitten fool, she went downstairs.
“I’m going out,” she said, keeping her tone matter-of-fact as she passed through the sitting room. Isabel and her mother were there together, sorting through more of Magnus’s papers.
“Give Dominic my regards,” said Isabel.
* * *
By the time she found her way to Dominic’s house, the sun had already set. The shimmering pink and orange glow lingered in the sky, throwing long shadows across the road as she parked. There was a moon, rising early in the evening. Riding above the gentle curves of the hills, it was huge, its orange glow firing the horizon’s edge.
His dogs announced her arrival, the big one sounding like a rabid hyena as he bounded out into the yard. If she hadn’t already met him, she would have shrunk from the gate. “Down, Dude,” she said. “Easy, boy.”
He smacked his lips, jaws flapping.
Dominic came out, looking relaxed in faded jeans—the top button undone, she was forced to note—and a UC Davis T-shirt. “Hey,” he said.
“Is this a bad time?”
“Nope. Just me and the pups tonight. How about a glass of wine on the back porch?”
“Perfect.” Maybe too perfect. She felt herself liking him more and more. It was like a hunger that wouldn’t abate.
The house was as freakishly neat as it was on her last visit, though quieter without the children. “I was wondering if you got an answer yet from the bank.”
“You’re not going to like it,” he said, pouring two glasses of wine.
Her heart sank. “They weren’t impressed.”
“By the idea of a priceless family treasure, yes. But they’re dealing with a board of overseers and the SEC. They can’t declare something an asset until it’s found and valued.” He led the way to the back porch and handed her a glass of wine.
She took a quick sip. “Delicious. Thank you. Did you tell them I intend to find it?”
“Sure. I told them I’d help you, even.”
This piqued her interest. “Really?”
“That didn’t change their minds, either.” He studied her for a moment. She liked the way he watched her—with appreciation but also respect. “There is something,” he said quietly.
She perked up. “I’m listening.”
“I did some research and came across an archaic banking rule that’s still in force. It provides for an automatic continuance for people claiming unrecovered or foreign assets. It was meant for liquid assets, but the regulation doesn’t spell that out, so it’s possible to claim the egg is an unrecovered asset.”
“That’s some catch,” she said.
“Took me all day to find it. I already filed for an extension based on that rule. No idea if it will fly with the underwriters, though. And I meant what I said. If there’s anything I can do to help, let me know.”
“Now I’m seriously impressed.” She studied him thoughtfully, trying to read deep into the whiskey-brown eyes behind his glasses. “Do you work this hard for all your clients?”
“I have a personal interest in helping Magnus.”
“Yeah? What else is in that will?”
“I’m not letting him leave me a thing, but—” He cut himself off abruptly.
“Go on. What were you going to say?” She watched his mouth, finding herself intrigued by his lips.
He stood against the porch railing and held her gaze. “I once made a promise to Magnus, a long time ago. I promised I’d look out for his family, the same way he looked out for mine when I was a kid.”
He was such a Dudley Do-Right. He was too good to be true.
“Unfortunately,” he went on, “my good intentions are not enough. I don’t know if I can stop this.”
“I’m sure he’d understand,” she said, even though she wasn’t sure at all. They sipped their wine
in silence for a few minutes, listening to the rustle of the breeze through the vineyards. She moved toward him, drawn by the warmth of the wine on her tongue, by the quiet evening, by the glimmer in his eyes. The most important part of this conversation had nothing to do with words.
They shared a long look. Then his hands descended to her shoulders, holding her firmly in place as he bent closer, his scent and his warmth enveloping her. A piercing need took her by surprise. She had always considered herself good at kissing, in the technical sense. It was something she had studied closely since the age of fifteen, when she kissed her first boy in the back of her nana’s shop. Since then, there had been kisses with boys and men of all shapes and sizes, all over the world.
But she’d never been kissed like this. From the first tender, searching touch of his mouth against hers, something new and unexpected started happening. She felt an irresistible pull toward him, and an intense sensation bloomed in her chest. His lips felt firm and cool, turning warm and deliciously moist as the pressure deepened. Closing her eyes, she lost herself in his kiss, letting it take her to a place where she stopped thinking and worrying.
It took all her self-control to stifle a protest when he lifted his mouth from hers and stood gazing down at her.
With the lightest of touches, he skimmed the pad of his thumb across her lower lip. “It’s probably all kinds of wrong,” he continued, “but I’ve been wanting to do that since the first time I saw you.”
“In my wreck of an office.”
“You were covered in powdered sugar.”
“You must’ve thought I was crazy. And then a couple of hours later you found out you were correct.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Completely,” she said, and clutched the front of his shirt and kissed him again.
Eighteen
Tess, Isabel and Shannon spent hours and hours sorting through decades of things at Bella Vista, piecing together the journey of a man who had been too busy living his life to keep decent records. What had happened with Dominic last night was a secret Tess kept close to her chest, uncertain about what to do with it. Yet at the same time, she had an urge to tell Isabel. Maybe she would, later.