Sins of the Flesh

by Fern Michaels

  Daniel frowned. Maybe he wasn’t being fair to Bebe; it was, after all, Reuben who had raped her. This was where it always got sticky in his mind, and to this day he’d never pressed Reuben for details. He supposed when he got to France, if he got there at all, Mickey would tell him the rest of the story.

  Philippe must be the child born of that rape; nothing else made sense, and even that didn’t make sense to Daniel. Maybe Mickey had had a child after he and Reuben returned to America. He groaned aloud. That was preposterous. He knew Mickey too well; she’d never do such an insane thing. It made more sense that she would take in Reuben’s flesh and blood. But why remain silent? And now, after all these years…

  “Goddamit to hell!” Daniel barked. His lawyer’s mind ground to a halt. How can you come to a concrete conclusion without concrete facts? Impossible. Especially when you haven’t slept for an eternity. Daniel looked at his watch—an hour until dawn. He hunkered down, but his muddled thoughts gave him no peace.

  The moment the first gray streaks appeared on the galley steps, he was off the bunk and up on deck. He leapt onto the pier and sprinted for the house, tearing at the yellow slicker as he ran. In the hallway he dropped the thick oilskin on the floor and raced for the steps leading to the second floor. He stopped short when he saw his wife at her dressing table, marveling, as he always did, at her appearance. She’d been out all night and most of the day before and still looked as perky as a fresh mint. Not a hair was out of place; her makeup was superb, her lips glossy and perfect. Gold winked at her ears and on her neck. The sea-green sheath with the slender straps was sleek and unwrinkled. Even the matching shoes were dry. As always, Daniel wondered how this was possible. For the life of him he couldn’t remember if she’d been wearing the same dress yesterday when she’d left the house. He nodded curtly as he headed for the bathroom.

  “What were you doing out so early this morning, darling?” Rajean asked with idle unconcern.

  “I spent the night on the boat,” he answered. He knew she wasn’t really interested; this was an old game between them.

  “Oh…Darling, I think Cornelia and I will stay on a few extra days if you don’t mind. The city is so beastly hot right now, and everyone, but everyone, is gone. Maybe we should think about staying on here for the summer and you could come on weekends…. Daniel? Answer me….”

  Daniel turned on the shower and walked naked into the bedroom, ignoring the look of distaste on his wife’s face. They were married, for Christ’s sake. “I think you should discuss it with Nellie. Do what you like, Rajean. I’ll leave the car at the ferry. I really don’t have time to talk now. Look…there’s every chance I’ll be…I might have to go out of town…it’s not definite…I’ll call you.”

  “You do that, Daniel,” Rajean said coolly. “Then there’s no rush for Cornelia and me to go back, is there?”

  Daniel stared into his wife’s glittering eyes. They emanated ice-cold nothingness. He tried to remember the last time they’d been in bed together. “No rush and no reason,” he said just as coolly. God. Had he really loved this woman once, this cold, chiseled beauty who could easily pose in the wax museum? “I’ve said this before, and I’m going to say it again, it’s not good for Nellie to see you coming in at dawn. Do you know what she said to me last night? She said you always come home, like a pigeon. Your daughter said that! Jesus, Rajean, can’t you at least be discreet?”

  “Don’t preach, darling, unless you’re above reproach. But you are above reproach, aren’t you?” she said contemptuously. “Faithful and loyal to this ancient marriage. Yes, Daniel, you are a paragon of virtue. You think I’m an alley cat, don’t you, darling?”

  “Stop with the darling bit, Rajean,” he said, trying to dead-end the conversation. They’d had it too often, and it only bored him now.

  “You are just too damn stuffy, my love. All you think about is your clients and those goddamn law books of yours.” Rajean kicked off one of her shoes and sent it flying across the room. The other followed. “We really should think about divorce,” she said sourly.

  “Yes, we should. I know I’m thinking about it very seriously.” Daniel had already turned to step into the shower.

  Rajean’s eyes widened. She’d made references to a divorce hundreds of times before, but this was the first time Daniel had had a ready comeback. Her fingers trembled as she pulled at the gold globes at her ears. He would fight for Nellie, not that she really cared. A teenager whose eyes were always full of questions irritated her. But she knew it was out of the question anyway. She would never be able to get as much money as she’d need if she didn’t have custody, even if it was just for three years. And she knew how it would look if she gave in. Women weren’t supposed to give up their children without a struggle.

  Damn! Daniel was so respectable…. It always brought her to the same conclusion—she needed that respectability and his stability. And since her own trust fund was depleted, she needed his money, too. There was no way she could dip into Nellie’s. Daniel had seen to that. Damn her parents for their double suicide during the stock market crash! Her lips curled into a sneer. A paltry fifty thousand dollars they’d left her, plus an apartment on Park Avenue and a place on the social register. Big deal. Four good seasonal parties, a little redecorating, and it was all gone. She did thank God, in her own way, every day, for not having brothers and sisters she’d have had to share it with.

  Daniel had come along when she was down to her last two thousand dollars. He’d shared so much with her on their wedding night, but his bank balance was the only thing she remembered in any detail. She’d never really loved him the way a woman is supposed to love her husband. Daniel was so naive; he thought passion was something you uncorked from a bottle between the hours of midnight and one in the morning. Sex was something you did between the sheets with the lights out and your eyes closed—which suited her just fine. He’d been happy as a pig in clover when she’d agreed to his adopting Nellie, and that’s when he’d started the damned trust fund. Motherhood was not among her strong points. Sometimes she didn’t think she had any strong points except perhaps throwing a hell of a party and socializing. But that was enough for her: she’d gone to the best schools and been introduced into society in the most accepted of ways, and she took the privilege of being a DAR very seriously. It was something she was very proud of.

  As Daniel stepped out of the shower and into their bedroom, Rajean watched her husband surreptitiously. He was handsome, she had to give him that. And in his characteristic white shirt and striped tie, with those horn-rimmed glasses as the classic accent, he was every inch the successful businessman. Her friends were fond of pointing out Daniel’s good looks and understated conservatism. To herself she admitted that she didn’t really want him, but she’d fight to the death to make sure no one else took him away from her. Besides, he needed her, too. How would he be able to function in Washington without a wife?

  His wife was beautiful. Everyone said so, and he agreed. Beautiful in a hard, glinting kind of way. Her hair was always perfectly coiffed in the latest upswept fashion with little tendrils curling about her ears. Her eyebrows were a fine, thin line above her lustrous green eyes, which she filled with drops twice a day to make them sparkle and glow. And those high cheekbones! Haunting, irresistible…and always emphasized with coral rouge and matching lipstick. He remembered the way she used to flutter her eyelashes at him, a coy little signal he thought endearing for years until he saw her remove them one night. Rajean did turn heads, but she no longer turned his.

  Daniel shrugged into his jacket. His words were so low, Rajean had to strain to hear them. “One of these days I’m going to ask you point-blank where you spend your nights. Or,” he said slowly, “I’m simply going to have you followed. I’m giving you fair warning. And I meant what I said about Nellie.”

  “Daniel, Daniel, what’s gotten into you?” Rajean pursed her lips into a pout as she sauntered over to him. “You know I was just teasing you. For heaven’s
sake, we’ve been married for so many years, I’ve lost count. Why, we’re like two old shoes growing old together. You know,” she gushed while straightening his tie, “we were meant for each other. I know we haven’t exactly been bed buddies these past months, but that was out of concern for you, sweetheart. You come home so tired and fretful, I can’t bear to tire you out still more. Come now, give me a big kiss before you leave.”

  Daniel listened to the empty words slipping smoothly from her lips. They didn’t affect him one way or the other. Whatever feelings he’d had for Rajean were gone now. Love was what he wanted, the kind of feeling Reuben and Mickey had, and he was smart enough to know he and Rajean had never even come close. Without a word he lifted her hands from his neck and turned his back on her. After stuffing his billfold and car keys into his pocket, he looked back at his wife and said, “I meant what I said, Rajean. I’ve learned to do without your kisses, you’ve seen to that. Enjoy your stay here on the island. Tell Nellie I’ll call her.”

  And then he was gone. Just like that. Rajean stared at the open bedroom door, her eyes glittering speculatively. She had to call Teddie, right now. “The hell with you, Daniel!” she muttered as she snatched the phone and dialed a New York City number.

  Rajean felt herself glow all over when she heard the answering click at the other end of the line. She listened to the contented, sleep-filled voice mumble a response. “It’s Rajean, Teddie. I’m sorry I woke you, but I have the most marvelous news. I think—now understand, this is just my opinion—I think Daniel wants a divorce! Can you believe that!”

  Rajean caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, and she smiled. It was always like this when she talked to Teddie—a warm feeling stole through every part of her being, and she could barely contain her joy. When she was with Teddie she was a simpering, whimpering mass of gelatin, and she would do anything her lover wanted. Now she waited for what she hoped would be Teddie’s enthusiastic response. And after a moment she heard it: the unmistakable gargle of her lover’s light snoring. “Damn you, Teddie!” she yelled into the phone before slamming it back on its receiver. “Damn everyone!”

  The day was just as miserable as the evening before, but at least there was no thunder and lightning. Daniel particularly hated driving over bridges in storms, and driving now onto the Robert Moses Bridge in the beating rain, he felt enveloped by his squeamishness. Such times always made him feel helpless, as if he were dangling in a cloth bag he could just barely see through. Why he’d ever allowed Rajean to talk him into buying a place way out in the middle of nowhere was beyond him. In those early days he’d tried to please her whenever he could, thinking that if he gave in to her, he’d get back at least a token of affection. But it hadn’t worked that way. The realization that Rajean just didn’t know how to give had really undone him. For ages he’d felt defeated and sad, until at last he’d resigned himself to the reality: he gave and Rajean took. Cut and dried—that’s how the relationship worked.

  As the wipers swept across the rain-whipped windshield, Daniel thought he could hear the words—get out, get out, get out. His stomach began to knot up, and he shook his head at the thought. Get out of the marriage? Now was not a good time to be contemplating divorce. No, he had to stop thinking about Rajean now and concentrate on what he was going to do to help Mickey. The inadequacies of his marriage would simply have to be endured for the time being. Nervously he wiped the sweat from his forehead. The storm wasn’t doing much to alleviate the oppressive heat and early morning humidity.

  The rain began to pound down around him; the wiper blades worked harder and harder, barely clearing the windshield. Beyond his headlights, visibility was so poor that he found himself holding tight to the wheel and leaning into the glass to see his way. To take his mind off the storm, he began to ruminate about Mickey’s circumstances but found he couldn’t even begin to imagine what was going on with her in France. He knew the newspapers reported only what they wanted to. Terrible thoughts began to surface in Daniel’s mind…. War…the rumblings had become louder and louder until—his own memories, which had lain dormant for so many years, flashed before his eyes. No matter what, he would help Mickey in any way he could—she had done exactly the same for him twenty years before.

  Suddenly the rain stopped, as though he’d personally commanded it to cease. One last splatter ricocheted across the windshield, and then as if by magic all was silent. Steam spiraled upward from the bridge like the gray fog that had rolled in from the ocean the night before.

  Daniel started to sweat when he caught sight of the Fire Island ferry and heard the blast of its warning horn. It was about ready to leave the slip. He pressed his foot on the gas and roared into the parking area. Without bothering to lock the car, he sprinted toward the ferry, briefcase in hand, his trousers sticking to his legs, his collar and tie askew. He made it on board without a second to spare, then checked his watch as he tried to pull himself together. By the time he got back to Washington he’d look like something the cat dragged in.

  An hour later Daniel boarded the train that would take him to Union Station in downtown Washington just blocks away from his office on K Street. Now his rushing was over, and he had a four-and-a-half-hour ride ahead with nothing to do but think. He deliberately ignored the pressing legal work packed neatly away in his bulging briefcase. The two corporate mergers he had been working on could wait. If the corporation heads themselves were to issue him an ultimatum to get to work, he’d hand over the briefcase and thank them for their consideration. But that wouldn’t happen, of course, because they’d waited patiently until his calendar was free. Apparently he was in demand.

  Daniel settled back in the scratchy seat and closed his eyes, but his questioning thoughts still tripped over one another in his head. God, what if Rocky couldn’t help? What if he couldn’t get to France? Mickey was depending on him, counting on him to come through for her. And the faceless Philippe, he was waiting, too. A white knight, a savior…What if…what if…Think positive, Daniel, he told himself. If anyone can get you to Europe, it’s Rocky and Jerry.

  He took a moment to savor his long-standing friendship with two of the finest men he’d ever met. Of course, their friendship was nothing like the one he had with Reuben, but it was damn close. Eventually his thoughts drifted and he slept, an uneasy, restless sleep, but one that would allow for a clear head on his arrival.

  Some instinct, or maybe it was the shuffle of the passengers gathering their belongings together, woke him as the train slowed and pulled into Union Station. With only his briefcase to worry about, he elbowed his way off the train and headed for the row of phone booths on the concourse. With dismay he stared at the line of weary travelers waiting to use the phones, and then he ran, tie flapping and coattails swooshing, leaving behind him the stale, urine-smelling air.

  Swinging through the revolving door of the office building he owned, Daniel raced up to the fourth floor, for once preferring not to wait for the elevator. Breathing heavily, he opened the plate-glass door with his firm’s name emblazoned in gold lettering and dashed to his mahogany-paneled office, calling over his shoulder to his wide-eyed secretary, “Get Rocky on the phone and bring me an ice-cold soda.”

  His chair, a deep burgundy Morris and a gift from Jerry Vanderbilt, welcomed him with a resounding, comforting swoosh, like a well-worn slipper. He drained the Coca-Cola when it was brought to him and set the green bottle to dancing on his desk. Then he bellowed to Irene, his secretary, to bring him two more from the small compact kitchen. He was working on the second bottle when Irene buzzed him. “Mr. Rockefeller is on the line, Mr. Bishop.”

  Daniel gagged on a mouthful of soda, the fizz bubbling in his nose. He cleared his throat before reaching for the phone. “Daniel here, Rocky.”

  The voice on the other end was low and filled with subdued excitement. “We did it! Don’t ask any questions, but if you can be at Dulles Airport at five-thirty, we have a Red Cross plane that will take you in. Actually, it’s on
e of Jerry’s planes, his grandfather’s. Vintage, to say the least, but in tiptop shape. It will set down at Heathrow in London, and the Red Cross insignia will see you through. My daddy called F.D.R. and got clearance.”

  Daniel had put all his faith in his friends, and they had come through again. He couldn’t speak.

  “Say something, you son of a bitch!” Rocky urged with a hearty laugh. “A small show of excitement will do.”

  “I…I honestly didn’t think you’d be able to…” Daniel sat up and tried to pull his thoughts together. “Listen, Rocky, I have to talk to you. Where the hell are you?”

  “You called me and you don’t know where I am?…Some lawyer you are. I’m at Dulles. Your secretary called my office, and they told her where to reach me. Jerry’s here now seeing to the outfitting of the plane. You know, goodies and that sort of thing. Oh, and don’t worry about clothes, we’ve got that covered, too.”

  Rocky paused to temper his natural exuberance with the gravity generally reserved for his courtroom monologues. “We want to help, Daniel, and if you need us to go with you—and Jerry is hoping you do, you should see him scrambling around this plane—we can say good-bye to jurisprudence at the drop of a hat. Whatever you need, you know it’s yours.”

  Daniel’s eyes misted. “There are a couple of things I’ve got to handle first. I shouldn’t be too long. We’ll talk when I get there, okay?”

  “You bet.” The exuberance was back. Daniel smiled and shook his head. Rocky and Jerry were doing for him what he was trying to do for Mickey. Friends…that said it all. Somehow he’d find a way to thank these two men, but for now he’d have to push ahead.

  Richard Rockefeller, Rocky to his intimate friends, was a tall, imposing man with crisp golden-brown hair that curled about his ears and forehead. Shrewd gray-green eyes gazed benevolently from beneath thick, fringed lashes that women would have killed for. A chiseled jaw, complete with cleft, and strong, even white teeth completed the saintly look Rocky strived for. He had worked on “the look” for years to get it just right. But Daniel knew Rocky’s boyish, innocent look was a facade. His friend was the toughest, meanest, nastiest courtroom lawyer on the East Coast, and proud of the fact that he’d never lost a case. Oh, he’d settled out of court at the eleventh hour, but he’d never let any arbitration be construed as an admission of guilt on the part of his client. Daniel knew that if he was ever in legal trouble, Rocky would be the man he’d turn to.