Where the Heart Chooses

by Tinnean

  “Jefferson, you don’t blame Nigel for the miscarriage, I hope.”

  He scowled at me. He had happened to be in Berlin at the time and managed to pay a flying visit. “He never once spoke of it. You could have bled to death on that bathroom floor.”

  “You’re exaggerating.” The hospital hadn’t even seen the necessity of keeping me more than a couple of days.

  He continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Doesn’t the man even care?”

  “He cares.”

  Nigel had awakened me one night shortly after it happened, shaking so hard and holding me so tightly I could barely draw a breath. Hot tears scalded my neck and shoulder.

  I managed to turn into the arms that were wrapped like steel bands around me. “We can have another child, darling.”

  “Fuck another child, Portia! I could have lost you!”

  “He cares more than you can imagine, Jefferson. And if you ever say anything so horrible about him again, I’ll smack you.”

  He had the grace to look abashed. “It’s your marriage, Portia.”

  “Yes. Now I imagine the ambassador has no idea he’s supposed to talk to my husband, so suppose you tell me why you wanted to speak to me without him being here.”

  He pulled something out of his pocket. “Here.” Three live violets, only slightly crushed, their light fragrance rising up to scent the close air of the small cubicle. “I was asked to give you these by a friend of a friend.”

  Folana. My lips formed the name, but I didn’t speak it aloud. I met Jefferson’s eyes and extended my hand.

  He placed the violets on my palm, and I stroked the fragile petals.

  “Is she well?”

  “Yes.” His mouth tightened. “He told me she had learned of your ‘illness.’ He said she wanted you to remember her promise to you. What promise, Portia?”

  “I fail to see that that’s any of your business, Jefferson. What was between Folana Fournaise and me remains strictly between Folana Fournaise and me.”

  “Look, little sister, this woman is dangerous. She and that maniac who calls himself her second-in-command are traveling in East Germany, trying to establish identities there.”

  “For Sir Bowne?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.” He took a turn around the cramped room, running his hand through his dark red hair. “Bart’s using the name Nils Halvorsen. I’ve already told him that if ‘Nils Halvorsen’ crosses my path I’ll have no qualms in shooting his dick off.”

  “Jefferson?” I rarely saw my brother so irritated. He was the lighthearted one who took nothing seriously. The fact that he’d actually used a slang term for that part of the male anatomy demonstrated how aggravated he was.

  “Jesus, Portia, do you know what the Limey bastard had the gall to say? ‘Then I guess I’ll ‘ave t’ make sure I don’t cross your path, luv.’”

  “‘Luv’?”

  “You know the Brits.” He hunched a shoulder, refusing to meet my eyes. “They call everyone luv.”

  “Of course.” Did he really think I believed that? I knew well enough that there were times he turned to men for physical companionship. Even if I hadn’t been involved with Folana for that very short period of time, I’d never sever ties with my brother—with any of my brothers—simply over the matter of whom he chose to love.

  “Besides, I’ve been more or less involved with someone else.”

  “Of course. Jefferson, that innocent expression hasn’t worked with me since I was twelve, and Mother told me that contrary to your assurances, I could not get pregnant simply by kissing a boy.”

  “It was worth a try to keep you out of trouble. Boys were already giving you the eye.” His mouth curled in the scamp’s grin that had women falling at his feet. And the occasional man. Although when he caught the women, it was to simply set them on their feet, give their backsides a pat, and move on to the man.

  “And you never gave me credit for being able to take care of myself.”

  “I just didn’t want to see you getting hurt. I still don’t.”

  “And I love you for it, but Jefferson, I’m twenty-six. I hope you won’t be offended by me saying this, but—”

  “I know, I know, you’re a big girl now.”

  Nigel strode in, pausing to scowl at my brother. “I hope your conversation with my wife is finished, Sebring. And I hope you haven’t upset her!”

  “Or?”

  “Or it will give me great pleasure to punch you on the nose.”

  “Yeah? Think you can take me, Mann?”

  I interrupted before things could deteriorate any further. “What did the ambassador have to say, darling?” Men.

  “He just gave me the usual malarkey about what a pleasure it had been working with me, to give his regards to your father, et cetera, et cetera. The man had no idea he’d be called upon to make a farewell speech; it was so obviously off-the-cuff.” He glared at Jefferson. “If you tell me I’m paranoid, I will punch your nose.”

  My brother looked down his nose at him, sneering.

  “That is not an attractive look for you,” I told my brother, and he laughed reluctantly. “I’m a little hungry, Nigel. Why don’t you take me to lunch? Jefferson, would you care to join us?”

  “No, thanks, little sister. I have some things to take care of. I’ll see you before you leave.”

  “Fine.” I kissed his cheek. “And please make sure you’re in the States next June.”

  “Next June?” He tried to look mystified, but my unyielding gaze defeated him. “Oh. The wedding. Are you sure…?”

  “Sebring, your sister is married to me, and not only is she going to stay married to me, but we’re going to make your mother happy by getting married again. Get used to that fact.”

  I leaned against my husband, and my brother gave a rueful smile at that demonstration of solidarity.

  “I’ll be there. I promise.” He paused at the door. “You might want to put those violets in water.”

  “Violets, Portia?”

  “From the friend I told you about.”

  “You told him?” For some reason Jefferson seemed perturbed.

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  He stared into Nigel’s eyes, and then growled under his breath and left.

  * * * *

  Chapter 7

  The package sitting on my desk had international postage on it. It was addressed to Portia Sebring. Carefully cushioned inside was a ceramic arrangement of violets. They appeared so genuine I could almost smell them.

  There was a pale lavender envelope in the center, and when I picked it up, I realized that was where the scent was coming from. I slid a thumbnail under the flap and withdrew a sheet of paper the same color as the envelope. The ink was a deeper purple, and the message was written in a meticulous, schoolgirl’s hand.

  My dear Portia,

  Please accept the enclosed as a token of my best wishes on your upcoming marriage. I hope you find great happiness with Nigel Mann.

  Due to certain commitments, I regret I cannot attend your wedding.

  Be happy, dear Portia, and remember, if you ever have need of me, Sir Joseph will know how to find me.

  Ever yours,

  Folana

  P.S…

  The post script was a recounting of her visit home to Crete. I had no problem deciphering what it actually said.

  You’ll be hearing shortly that I’ve married. Roderick Wood is British and he’s a good man. However, because there are no deep feelings between us, (and you’re not to think it’s because you’re a hard act to follow, my friend. I imagine that one day I’ll find someone to love as much as you love your Nigel.) you’ll also hear that we’re now divorced.

  Please believe that while Roderick willingly took the blame and confessed to adultery, there was no adultery involved. He admitted to it simply to accommodate me. You’re not to go after him or to send your charming (so Bart claims) brother to do the deed. Yes, I know you would hurt Roderick if you thought he’d hurt
me. Trust me, there’s truly no need.

  ~ F

  Why had she felt the need to marry now? I folded the note and put it back in its envelope. In spite of the short amount of time we’d spent together, Folana did know me well. If I’d thought Roderick Wood had done anything to upset my friend, I’d have seen he wound up singing soprano.

  Just then, Tony sauntered into my office and propped a hip against my desk. “Pretty.” He nodded toward the violets.

  “Yes. It’s from Folana Fournaise.” I put the arrangement back into the box and set it out of the way on my desk.

  “Interesting. I just received a message from Sir Joseph Bowne, asking if I might pass it on to you.”

  “Oh?” I kept my response cautious. I had no doubt it would have been encoded, and I understood why Sir Joseph wouldn’t get in touch with me directly; that would be by-passing the chain of command.

  “Two things. The Complex has been disbanded, and Folana Fournaise has purchased a penthouse overlooking Hyde Park.”

  “Hmm. While the former is very interesting, I fail to see where Folana’s choice of abode has anything to do with, well, anything.”

  “You didn’t let me finish. That’s just the first thing. The second is she married Roderick Wood, a British national, in Beirut.”

  “And she didn’t invite me to the wedding?” I widened my eyes to indicate how wounded I was.

  “I don’t know how you could be friends with a woman like that.” He scowled at me.

  “And what kind of woman would that be?”

  “Oh, come on, Portia. You know as well as I do that she’s one to keep her eye on the main chance. That marriage made her a British citizen.”

  I held my tongue and waited to see what else my brother had to say.

  “She divorced Wood after a few months. And she must have paid him a hefty bonus to confess he’d committed adultery.”

  “You think she paid him?”

  “Of course. What man would do that, especially when there was no adultery involved?”

  I didn’t ask him how he was sure of that.

  He continued. “At any rate, Miss Fournaise is a British citizen now.”

  “I see.” Yes, it made perfect sense. Folana had never truly had a home. Now, it seemed, she had.

  My brother worried his lip for a moment. “I saw her name on the guest list.”

  “She won’t be attending.” I gestured toward the envelope that was lying on my blotter. “Prior commitments.”

  “Certainly. Well, that wasn’t really what I came to speak to you about.” But he looked relieved.

  I leaned back in my chair, crossed my legs, and waited to hear what he had to say.

  “Portia, do you have to have those four weeks off?”

  This was an on-going discussion about my honeymoon.

  Nigel and I hadn’t decided when we would be remarried; Mother had done that, and she’d chosen the last Sunday in June.

  “You’ll remember we didn’t have a honeymoon the last time.”

  “What do you call six months in Berlin?”

  “Six and a half months.” I corrected. “And I call it a job.” He flushed, conceding my point. “Bryan has given Nigel the time.”

  “You’re already married,” he grumbled, “I don’t see why you have to get married again.”

  “You talk to Mother about it. I’m trying to stay out of this as much as I can.”

  “But Portia, it’s your wedding.”

  “Tony, if it makes Mother happy to plan this for me, then I’m not going to get in her way.” I’d never seen her so effervescent, and that made me feel guilty. So rarely had I—or my brothers for that matter—paid any attention to her emotions. We were Father’s children, after all.

  “Oh, all right,” Tony groused. “Tell Mann we have the bachelor party scheduled for two weeks from Saturday.”

  “Just make sure I get him back in one piece, please?” I saw the time. “I have to go.”

  He glanced at his watch. “It’s on the early side, don’t you think?”

  “I’m supposed to meet Allison for dinner.”

  “Who? Oh, your TZE sister. Can’t you reschedule it for another time?”

  “I’m afraid not, big brother. It’s actually my bridal shower.”

  “Excuse me? I thought that was supposed to be a surprise.”

  “Tony, I decipher codes for a living. Learning when my shower is to be held is a snap in comparison.”

  “What’s the point if you aren’t going to be surprised?”

  “Are you joking? When I walk into the private dining room of Ballantrae’s and see all those balloons and flowers and that white lace umbrella over the wishing well, I am going to be the most surprised woman in the world!”

  “I don’t understand women.” He shook his head and turned to leave.

  “But if you did, think how boring your life would be,” I called after him.

  He snorted and walked out.

  * * * *

  Mother got her big wedding, and as I had warned Nigel it was a three-ring circus for the society set. However, the expression on his face as I walked down the aisle on Father’s arm, in a lace and peau de soie gown dripping with Swarovski crystals, made it worthwhile.

  “You’re overdoing it, little sister,” Jefferson said softly as we twirled around the dance floor.

  “Overdoing what?” I asked as I searched for my husband. I smiled when I spotted him waltzing with Mother.

  “Anyone looking at you would think you were head over heels in love with the man.”

  “Isn’t that the point? After all, we’ve just exchanged vows.”

  “Yes, but you’re supposed to be his cover.”

  “And aren’t I doing an excellent job of it?” I gazed over his shoulder into Nigel’s eyes.

  “Change partners, Jefferson?” he murmured.

  “I don’t know why anyone tries to dance with you, Portia,” my brother complained as he let me go. “None of us ever gets to finish!”

  “Never mind. Dance with Mother.” I smiled at her and went into Nigel’s arms.

  “Are you enjoying yourself, darling?” He nuzzled the hair away from my ear.

  “Yes, I am. Although I must say I’d enjoy myself even more if we were somewhere alone.”

  “In that case, shall we slip away?”

  * * * *

  True to his word, this time we honeymooned in Paris. While there, he took me to Jacques Ferber, the furriers who supplied Chanel, Lanvin, and Worth with their furs, and bought me the most beautiful lynx coat.

  When we returned at the end of four weeks, I moved into Nigel’s apartment, which was larger than mine, and we fell right back into the swing of things at work.

  After the Cuban Missile Crisis that October, however, we realized life was too short, and on the weekends we set about looking for our first home together. Nigel’s apartment was fine for a bachelor, or even a business couple, but it was too small for the family we intended to start one day.

  It took months, but finally, early the following September, Nigel and I found a beautiful, old Tudor house on a nice-sized piece of property in Great Falls, Virginia.

  “This is it, darling,” he said tenderly, bringing my hand to his mouth and pressing a kiss to the platinum band on my ring finger. “This is the house where we’ll raise our children, where we’ll grow old together.”

  “Nigel, you do say the sweetest things.” I leaned against him. “Do you think Jack and Jackie would like to come, once we’re settled in?”

  “I’ll ask.” His arm was a pleasant weight over my shoulders.

  Between closing on the house and then getting everything exactly right, it took longer than we had anticipated and before they could pay us a visit, Dallas rolled around and the entire country went into mourning.

  * * * *

  Chapter 8

  We learned I was pregnant almost two years to the day of our second wedding, and we spent that summer confronting the almost over
whelming task of finding a suitable name for our child.

  “Shall we name him after you, darling?”

  “Good God, no!” Nigel looked horrified. “I was saddled with this name because apparently my mother had fond memories of a college professor. I won’t do that to my own son!”

  But he had no objection to his middle name, Quinton. Oddly enough, we didn’t choose a girl’s name.

  “You really should, Portia,” Mother insisted. We were having dinner with her while Father was in New York meeting with the secretary general, and the topic of girls’ names had come up.

  “Mrs. Sebring, if it’s a girl, we’ll just name her after the day of the week on which she’s born.” Nigel gave Mother his most charming smile.

  “What a very clever idea!”

  I almost choked on my wine, and Nigel nudged my ankle under the table.

  Afterward, driving home in his own Studebaker Golden Hawk, which he preferred to the Coupe de Ville supplied by the CIA, I murmured, “You certainly have the Sebring women wrapped around your finger. I’ve rarely seen Mother that mellow. If I’d suggested anything as outrageous as naming a child for a day of the week, she’d have sent me to my room.”

  “Portia, you’re the only Sebring woman I want wrapped around my finger, but I wouldn’t mind sending you to your room.”

  “Nigel, I can’t understand how you remained single for so long, but I’m very glad you did.”

  He gave me a startled glance. “What…you…I don’t…Would you mind explaining that?”

  “You’re the sexiest man it’s been my pleasure to know.” I leaned over as close as I could, brushed my lips over his ear, and blew into it. “Once I saw you, Nigel, I’d have shot whoever was in my way to get to you.”

  “Portia.”

  “Yes, darling?”

  “When we get home, you are definitely being sent to your room.”

  “Yes, darling.”

  * * * *

  We decided that because I’d be going back to work once our child was born, we’d need a housekeeper/nanny, and set about the task of interviewing applicants for the position. They all had excellent references, but Nigel did a background check on each of them that would have rivaled an applicant for a position at the White House.