“She’s very beautiful,” Philippe said carefully.
“Yes, she is, and she’s beautiful inside as well, much like your mother. In fact, she reminds me of Mickey in a lot of ways. Come along, she’s probably in the garden; it’s her favorite spot.”
Philippe followed Daniel, wondering how it was possible to live in such finite rooms. The echo their footsteps created startled him. Later he would have to figure out what caused the echo.
“Nellie, are you out there?” Daniel called.
“Oh, Daddy, you’re home. How wonderful! We just got here today ourselves.” Noticing Philippe for the first time, Nellie smiled what Daniel always called her holiday smile. “You’ve been gone so long I was going to send the state troopers out to look for you.” She nudged her father, which meant he should hurry and introduce her to the handsome young man standing next to him. “Nellie, this is Philippe Bouchet. Philippe, my daughter, Nellie.”
“I’m pleased to meet you,” Philippe said in his perfect English, his eyes never leaving her face.
“I’m just as pleased. Daddy never brings home anyone but stuffy lawyers,” Nellie said, giggling. She winked at her father.
“Do me a favor, honey, show Philippe to his room; he’s going to be staying with us a day or so. I have some things to take care of in my office. Is your mother home?” he asked.
“She was, but she went back to the station; the car wouldn’t start so she’s having it towed, and she said she wanted to stop by the market since there’s nothing to eat in the house. She should be home soon.”
Nellie led the way up to the second floor, the staircase as skinny and narrow as the rest of the house. Philippe liked the flash of her long, tanned legs and the skimpy pink playsuit she wore. She had to be around his age, he decided. Pretty. No, he corrected himself, she was beautiful, with eyes the color of a spring meadow and ripe golden hair, the kind he’d like to run his hands through. He forgot then about the girl he’d kissed so often at the Sorbonne.
“This is your room, and you can share the bath with me, it’s next door. It has a lock,” she added hastily. “Towels are on a shelf and soap is under the sink. Where are you from, Philippe?”
“France,” Philippe replied, looking around the cramped room. Surely even a prison cell was bigger.
“If you’re as tired as Daddy looks, I guess you want a bath and a nap. I’m sure we’re going to have dinner, but knowing Mother, it might just be sandwiches or something. We’ve been on Fire Island for the past few weeks. The larder is bare.”
“I’m not hungry, but yes, I would like a bath and…A bath would be fine.”
Nellie prided herself on correctly reading people’s emotions, a trait she’d picked up at an early age, mainly due to her mother. “You look tired, but you also look…angry. Is something wrong?”
Philippe smiled and Nellie blinked. She stepped backward. “Sorry, you…you reminded me of someone just now when you smiled.”
“And here I thought I was an individual in my own right. Whom do I remind you of?” Philippe asked lightly.
“My uncle Reuben. He’s not my uncle, but he and Daddy have been friends all their lives, or almost. I call him ‘uncle’ out of respect. It’s uncanny how much you look like him. You have a nice smile,” she said coolly.
Philippe Bouchet, alias Philip Tarz, felt his heart melt and knew he was going to fall in love with the green-eyed, golden-haired girl. “Reuben Tarz is my father,” he said quietly, so quietly Nellie had to step forward to hear him.
“Oh, how wonderful!” No, it wasn’t wonderful at all, she decided when she saw the scowl on Philippe’s face. “Uncle Reuben is giving me a job in the production offices at the studio in Hollywood. My parents agreed to let me put off college for a year to see if this is something I really am suited for. Will you be working there, too?”
The scowl left Philippe’s face and he laughed, a deep, rich sound that sent goose bumps up and down Nellie’s arms. “I guess so, I own half the studio.”
“How nice…what I mean is…we might…work together. I don’t know a thing about producing films, but I’m eager to learn. I…I’ll see you…later.”
“Yes, later.” Philippe smiled.
At the top of the narrow staircase Nellie smacked her hands gleefully. They would be working at the same studio, which meant they would see each other…often, if she had anything to say about it. Lord, he was a handsome devil…rich…and nice…rich…and charming…and…rich…Uncle Reuben’s son…richer still. She decided she wasn’t even going to speculate on what that meant.
Nellie headed for the kitchen. It would be up to her to fix something for dinner if they were going to eat. Her mother was absolutely worthless when it came to cooking, not that she was much better, but at least she knew how to make tuna and egg salad.
The cupboards were bare of the essentials she needed to whip something together. There was a can of tuna fish, but there was no mayonnaise, celery, onions, or bread, and no vegetables for a salad. Even though her mother was stopping by the market, she knew none of those ingredients would be on her list. Her mother bought things like canned artichokes, plums in brandy sauce, and jarred wieners in some kind of brine.
Five minutes later Nellie was on her old bicycle, pedaling her way to the market. In thirty minutes she returned to find Philippe sitting in the kitchen sipping Coca-Cola from a bottle. Her cheeks grew warm as she set about removing the groceries from the bag.
Philippe watched her quick, sure movements. “You have no servants here?” he asked. Surely Daniel Bishop earned enough money as an attorney to provide at least a cook, and the mother, why wasn’t she in the kitchen instead of this young girl?
“Not really,” Nellie replied. “We used to have a day person, but my mother…I don’t know, they come and go. My mother is…she doesn’t…”
“She doesn’t cook.” Philippe smiled.
“Not very well,” Nellie said truthfully.
While they talked then of everything and nothing, Daniel sat in the library and pored over the packet of papers Mickey had entrusted to his care. The papers smelled musty and old, and, of course, some of them were old, like Philippe’s two birth certificates, his two passports, and the stock certificate from Fairmont Studios. Bemused, he moved them aside to concentrate on the letter addressed to him in Mickey’s neat handwriting. The letter to Reuben he placed well out of reach. Inside his envelope were two pieces of paper. When he realized what he held in his hand, he felt light-headed. Quickly he read the short note.
My dearest Daniel,
I’m writing this to you as I sit here waiting for your arrival, and I know in my heart you will come to take my son to his father. You, of all people, must understand why I did what I did. Now I ask one more favor of you, my dear friend. Enclosed are two shares of stock in Fairmont Studios. Reuben holds 49 percent and Philippe now holds 49 percent, so they are equal. At some point in time they will lock horns, as you say, and you must be the one to make the final decision based on what is best for the studio. I ask that you do not allow your friendship with Reuben or your feelings toward Philippe to interfere. I know I can trust you to be fair.
Forgive me, Daniel, for my years of silence. I remain your loving friend,
Mickey
“Son of a bitch!” Daniel exploded, then turned at the sound of heels on the terra-cotta floor. “Oh, Rajean. I didn’t hear you come in,” he said. “We have a guest. Do you think you could stir yourself sufficiently to make something for dinner?”
“I believe Nellie has it under control,” Rajean replied indifferently. “She’s making tuna salad. I’m not hungry, so, if you don’t mind, I won’t be joining you.”
“I don’t mind at all,” Daniel snapped. “I can’t remember the last time you cooked or sat down at the table with your family.” This wasn’t the time to argue, Daniel reminded himself, not with the boy downstairs and Reuben due to arrive in a few hours. Confrontations with Rajean always unnerved him, so much so that he
had difficulty concentrating. And today he was just too damn tired to put up with her crap.
“Is it my fault I can’t find competent help?” Rajean countered plaintively. “Surely you don’t expect me to clean and cook. I didn’t get married to be a slave to you, Daniel. And for God’s sake, where did you get those clothes you’re wearing? You are smelling up this bedroom.” She held her nose with two long, painted nails to make her point.
“Then leave,” Daniel said succinctly. “The only reason you can’t find competent help is because you steal half their wages. I personally called Alice, and do you know what the woman’s daughter told me? That her mother couldn’t work for ‘coolie wages.’ Coolie wages, Rajean! You didn’t fire her, she quit. And where is the money? Half, you stole half of Alice’s money. You helped yourself to Nellie’s bank account, and still it wasn’t enough. Tomorrow your charge accounts are getting cut off. I will hire a housekeeper and I will pay her. You will get an allowance, and that is all you will get. I’m having an accountant go over the house bills, and when I have the totals, you damn well better have some answers, so if anyone is moving out of this room because of my smelly clothes, it will be you.”
“You can’t do that!” Rajean snapped. “How will that look? I have to keep up appearances.”
“For whom? I never see you in anything but your slippers and robe. Who are all those fancy clothes for? I’m warning you, I’m going over the bills with a fine-tooth comb, and you damn well better have answers.” With that he stalked into the adjoining bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
Oh, she had answers all right, but he wasn’t going to like them, Rajean thought nervously. It was true, she’d spent a fortune since her affair with Teddie, and she had robbed Nellie’s account, and yes, she’d filched from the cleaning lady. God, now what was going to happen? With Nellie going to California, there would be just the two of them in the house. Like two spitting cats. How was she going to get to New York to see Teddie if Daniel cut off her funds? And he would make good on his promise, too. Daniel never made idle threats. A little humble pie with a side helping of crow might do the trick, she decided.
“Darling,” Rajean called through the bathroom door in a voice she hardly recognized as her own. “If Reuben is going to be in town, why don’t we wine and dine him? It’s been so long since I’ve seen him, we should make it memorable. What do you think?”
“You hate Reuben, or did you forget?” Daniel replied bitterly. “I’m not interested, Rajean. I told you before I’m seriously considering a divorce and I meant it about Nellie. You’re a rotten mother and a worse wife. Let’s just drop the subject.”
Once again she tried, a slightly desperate note in her voice. “I think you’re overtired. Your face is full of tension. I’ll give you one of my delicious massages with that sweet-smelling oil, and later we can…Daniel, are you listening to me?”
He wasn’t answering her which meant her offer was not going to be accepted. A frisson of fear curled inside her stomach before working its way up to her chest and throat. My God, a divorce! No money! No charge accounts! A prisoner in her own house!
When Daniel saw the lighted dome on the taxi creeping down the cobbled street, he broke into a cold sweat. This was Reuben, he reminded himself, not an executioner coming to call. All he was going to do was deliver…a long-lost son. Adjusting his glasses over the bridge of his nose, he reached out and grasped Reuben’s hand as his friend emerged from the cab.
“Where is she, Daniel?” Reuben asked without preamble. “Jesus, I could hardly wait to get here. I still can’t believe it! She called you! At first I was mad, and then when I thought about it rationally, I realized why Mickey would call you. Does she still look the same? Did she tell you why she didn’t stay in touch? Where is she, Daniel? Sleeping? For Christ’s sake, say something!”
“Hello, Reuben,” Daniel said quietly. “We can sit out here where it’s cool or we can go inside to the office. Mickey isn’t here. I didn’t bring her with me, although I begged her to come. I’m sorry.” Lord, was this flat-sounding voice his?
“Mickey’s not here, but you went to France?” Reuben asked, puzzled. “Rocky said you were fetching someone back. Of course, I thought it would be Mickey. Nothing else made any sense. But I’m glad you made it over and back safely. Well, what was so important you had to drop everything and rush off to a war-torn country, and just who in the hell did you bring over to our shores?”
This was it, the moment he’d been dreading. Daniel looked up at Reuben in the yellowish glow of the streetlight. He cleared his throat and said, “Sit down, Reuben…. I brought your son back with me. The son Bebe delivered that none of us knew about. Mickey raised him all these years. That’s why she wasn’t in touch with us. She was afraid you’d go over and claim him. Bebe didn’t want the baby. He…he was born right before we left France to come back here. I’m sorry to blurt it out like this, but there’s no other way. The boy’s in the garden with Nellie. He doesn’t like you very much, and he doesn’t like me, and, of course, it’s all understandable. Until the moment we left, Mickey had not told him Bebe was his real mother. She did, however, tell him all about you. He’s grown up knowing you were here in America. When he was twelve or so he decided you were a fairy tale and started to dislike you. He thought you knew about him. He’s had a rough time these past weeks. He’s a fine lad, Reuben. Mickey did a tremendous job in raising him. Spittin’ image of you, too. Looks like you, walks like you, has your mannerisms, and he sounds like you with a French accent…. Say something, Reuben, I’m babbling here,” Daniel pleaded.
Stunned, Reuben sat in silence for a moment.
“A son! My God…. What’s his name?”
“Philippe Bouchet,” Daniel said quietly.
“Well, that certainly explains everything, doesn’t it?” Reuben said, his face white with shock. “I must be slipping. I never figured it; did you?”
“No.”
“All these years Bebe never said a word. How could she do that? How could she keep something like that from me?”
“I don’t know. She didn’t…she doesn’t know that Mickey kept the boy; she thought they gave him out for adoption. Maybe she wanted to forget it, I don’t know. I thought you would be upset. I’ve been agonizing over how to tell you.”
“I guess I’m…numb. So he doesn’t like me, eh?”
Daniel nodded. “He thinks you deserted him and his mother. His face when he found out…I could see it ripped his world apart. Mickey told him she was going to try to make her way to Spain with Yvette; Henri’s dead, gunned down by Germans in Paris, but he knows she was going to join the Resistance. It broke my heart, Reuben, each of them trying to say the thing that would give the other the most comfort. She said I was to tell you she was entrusting him to your care now. She sent a letter to you; it’s in the house.”
“How is she?” Reuben asked gruffly.
“Older, but the same. Worried about her son like any other mother would be. She cried when she saw me, but then, so did I. We talked for a long time. She’s never stopped loving you, if that’s what you need to hear.”
Wearily Daniel stood up and turned to his friend. “It’s getting dark and the bugs are starting to come out. Let’s go in the house and have a cold beer. When you’re ready to meet Philippe, I’ll introduce you. I imagine you’ll want to read your letter first. I’ll fetch the beer, so make yourself comfortable.”
It was warm in Daniel’s office, or maybe it was him, Reuben thought. Nervously he loosened his shirt and jerked at his tie. He was certainly well turned out to meet his son. Jesus, a son! A son about whom he’d known nothing until minutes before. How was it possible he’d gone through the last twenty years without even suspecting?
Daniel returned and handed him Mickey’s letter along with a frosty bottle of uncapped beer. Then he withdrew discreetly to the downstairs bathroom, where he sat on a stool waiting for Reuben to finish the letter.
Reuben was a basket case of nerves
as he ripped at the envelope. After all these years, finally, he was going to read a letter from Mickey. He found himself gripping the arms of the chair, the letter lying in his lap. When he’d calmed down, he picked it up, took a deep breath, and started the letter.
My dearest darling,
I know, darling Reuben, what you must be going through this very moment. Please forgive me for my years of silence. When you left here with Daniel, I thought my world had come to an end. I knew it was best for you, and that’s all I ever wanted. Philippe was your son, and he needed me as much as I needed him. He’s been my life all these years. I worried that Bebe would have told you, but I knew if she had, you would have come to claim your son.
And now I am turning him over to you. It’s no longer safe for him here with these hateful Germans. I wish there were something I could say that will make it easy because I know Philjppe will not be cooperative. He thinks he hates you and Bebe, but he doesn’t. He will realize this with patience on your part. He’s a fine young man, Reuben, a son you can be proud of. I wish circumstances were different, but they aren’t and there is nothing more I can do.
Every day of my life you have been in my heart. Time has never healed the wound of our parting.
Yvette and I are joining the Resistance movement. When we can, we will check with the Red Cross.
Love your son as I have loved him.
Sins of the Flesh Page 12