Breath of Scandal

by Sandra Brown

  That particular afternoon she almost got caught, arriving home only moments before he did. Immediately he hugged her and planted a firm kiss on her cold lips. Then, grinning, he released her and said, “Let’s go to Switzerland.”

  “Switzerland?”

  “Yeah, you know, one of the countries that shares a border with France—goats and Heidi, Alps and snow, yo-do-la-dee-ho.”

  “Of course I know Switzerland. Remember our weekend in Geneva?”

  “Was that where our room had the mirror on the ceiling?”

  “So you do remember.”

  “How could I forget?” he growled, reaching for her again. Their mouths melded into a kiss.

  “We don’t need mirrors on the ceiling,” she whispered when they finally pulled apart.

  “But I need to get out of town and celebrate.”

  “Celebrate what?”

  “I fired Haskell Scanlan today.”

  Debra’s smiled faltered.

  Dillon told her what had happened. “I hated like hell having to go to that extreme, but he left me no choice.” He studied her worried expression. “You don’t think I did the right thing?”

  “I think you did exactly the right thing. Unfortunately, my opinion doesn’t carry as much weight as Forrest G. Pilot’s.”

  “That’s why I want to leave for Switzerland tonight. If he agrees with my decision, we’ll have had a terrific weekend in the Alps. If he reverses it, I’ll have to quit on principal, in which case we can no longer afford a trip to Switzerland. And if he fires me, the above is also true. So, while I’m still gainfully employed and feeling as good as I do, let’s say to hell with everything else and go.”

  They took an express train to Lausanne and another to Zermatt. They joked with students, chatted with a grandmother from Montreux who was knitting a cap for her tenth grandchild, and snacked on the food Debra had had the foresight to bring along.

  Dillon drank strong red wine from a bota one of the students offered him, but declined to take a toke of marijuana. When the couple sitting across from them began to neck, Dillon and Debra asked each other why not, and cuddled and kissed until they fell asleep.

  In Zermatt, Dillon skied the expert slopes. Debra’s pregnancy prohibited her from that, so she consoled herself by browsing in the glitzy shops and watching the endless parade of jetsetters. Together she and Dillon rode in a horse-drawn sleigh and watched skaters gliding on silver blades across a frozen pond. They gorged on cheese fondue, thick, dark bread, white wine, and Swiss chocolate.

  During the train ride home, Dillon pulled her against him and tucked her head beneath his chin. “This was our real honeymoon.”

  “What was wrong with our trip to Bermuda?”

  “Absolutely nothing. But then you were merely my bride. Now you’re my wife.” He slipped his hand into her coat and laid it on her swollen belly. “I love you.”

  While they were waiting to switch trains in Lausanne, she bought a tin of aspirin. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “My throat’s getting sore.”

  She slept fitfully for the remainder of the trip to Paris and was frequently awakened by chills. “It hurts to swallow,” she complained.

  Dillon pressed his hand against her forehead. “You’re burning up. Better take some more aspirin.”

  “I hate to without asking the doctor first. Aspirin might not be good for the baby.”

  By the time they reached Paris, Dillon was worried, although Debra assured him that her sore throat was simply the result of her exposure to mountain air. He fought Monday morning rush-hour traffic to get her to her obstetrician, and they reached his office just as it was opening. The nurse, with kindness and concern, guided Debra into an examination room and asked Dillon to wait outside. He didn’t like it, but he waited. After several waiting patients averted their eyes, he realized he must look like a reprobate. He hadn’t shaved during their trip and had spent a virtually sleepless night on the train.

  Finally, he was ushered into the doctor’s private office. “Madame Burke has a very nasty throat,” he said in heavily accented English. “I—” He made a swabbing motion.

  “He took a culture,” Debra said with a grimace.

  “Strep?” Dillon asked. “No offense, Dr. Gaultier, but if it’s that serious, maybe you should recommend a specialist.”

  “I agree,” he said, giving a brief nod. “Let us await the lab results. We should know by tomorrow.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be all right,” Debra assured her worried husband. “He prescribed an antibiotic. I’ll stay in bed today and let you wait on me hand and foot.”

  Dillon tried to return her smile, but she looked so ill that he couldn’t find anything to smile about. He saw her into their apartment and got her into bed before running two blocks to the nearest pharmacy to have the prescription filled. She swallowed the capsule and drank a cup of tea before lapsing into a deep sleep.

  Only then did Dillon remember to call the work site. He spoke to the foreman he had placed in temporary charge before leaving the previous Friday. The Frenchman convinced him that everything was all right and urged him to stay at home with his ailing wife. Throughout the long day, he sat at Debra’s bedside, taking catnaps in the chair, waking her only when it was time for her medicine.

  In spite of her fever and discomfort, she managed to quip jokes when he carried her into the bathroom to relieve herself. “Good thing this didn’t happen in my ninth month. You wouldn’t be able to lift me.”

  Dillon ate a sandwich for supper, but couldn’t coax her to take any more than a cup of beef bouillon. “My throat’s already feeling better, though,” she told him. “I’m just very weak. A good night’s sleep is all I need. You look like you could use one, too,” she said, running her hand over his bearded chin.

  After giving her her medicine, he undressed and got into bed with her. Exhausted, he fell asleep as soon as he lay down.

  During the night he awakened. Squinting through the darkness, he consulted the clock on the nightstand. It was time to give Debra another capsule. He switched on the lamp.

  And screamed.

  Debra’s lips were blue, and she lay very still.

  “Oh, God! Oh, Jesus! Debra! Debra!” He threw his leg over her and straddled her thighs. He flattened his ear against her breasts. He sobbed with relief when he heard her heartbeat. But it was faint. She was barely breathing.

  Dillon leaped from the bed and pulled on his clothes, fastening none of them. He crammed his bare feet into sneakers. Gathering Debra in his arms, blankets and all, he ran through the dark apartment and burst into the hallway. He descended the stairs at a treacherous pace. Should he summon an ambulance or drive her to the hospital himself? He finally opted for the latter, reasoning that by the time he located the number and, with his limited French, conveyed the urgency of the situation, it might be too late.

  “God, no, no.” A strong wind tore the words from his mouth as he raced from the building to his parked car. He deposited Debra in the front seat. She slumped to one side, and again his voice cracked on a rough prayer.

  He knew approximately where the nearest hospital was located and sped off in that direction. The tires screeched on the pavement and echoed off silent buildings as the car careened around street corners. He steered with his left hand while massaging Debra’s wrist with his right. He kept up a running chatter about how he would never forgive her if she died.

  The emergency-room staff instantly discerned the seriousness of her condition and whisked her away on a gurney. Dillon had to run to catch up. At a door marked with words he couldn’t read, he was barred entrance by people he couldn’t understand. He fought them off and tried to lunge through the doors after the gurney. Eventually he was restrained and bodily removed to the waiting room, where an English-speaking nurse threatened him with expulsion from the hospital if he didn’t calm down.

  “Calm?” he cried hoarsely. “My wife looks like death, and you expect me to be calm? I want to
be with her.”

  She remained firm and finally talked him through the various forms that had to be filled out for admittance to the hospital. Then, left alone, Dillon paced until he was too weary and distraught to take another step and dropped into a chair.

  He hung his head, pressing his thumbs deeply into his eyesockets and praying to a god he wasn’t convinced existed but paradoxically mistrusted. What else would this selfish deity claim from him? Hadn’t he given up enough? Everyone he had ever loved had been taken away from him: his parents, his granny, the counselor at the reform school who had taken a special interest in him.

  He was jinxed. People, beware. If you love Dillon Burke, you die.

  “No, no,” he groaned. “Not Debra. Please, not Debra. Don’t take her, you stingy son of a bitch.”

  He bargained with the unseen power, vowing to sacrifice anything if Debra could be spared. He promised to live a good life, to feed the hungry and clothe the naked. He made an oath never to ask for anything ever again, if this one small favor could be granted—��Let her live.”

  “Monsieur Burke?”

  Dillon’s head snapped up. A doctor was standing a few feet from him. “Yes? My wife? Is she—”

  “She is going to be all right.”

  “Oh, Christ,” Dillon sobbed as his head fell back against the cold tiles of the waiting-room wall. “Oh, God.”

  “She had an allergic reaction to the antibiotic Dr. Gaultier prescribed. It is no one’s fault,” he was quick to add. “We consulted Dr. Gaultier. There was nothing in her medical records sent from the United States to indicate that she had an allergy to this particular—”

  “Look, I don’t intend to sue anybody,” Dillon interrupted him, coming to his feet. “Debra’s alive and is going to be okay. That’s all I care about.”

  Dillon was so relieved, his knees felt rubbery. It had all happened so fast. Life was precious. Life was fragile. Here one moment, gone the next. Every second should be milked for all it was worth because you never knew when the bottom was going to drop out. He would have to remember that. He would have to tell Debra about this revelation. They would make it their philosophy, live by it, hand it down to their—

  His happy thoughts came to a sudden standstill.

  “Doctor,” he croaked. He knew before asking what the answer was going to be, but he had to ask. His lips were parched and his mouth was dry with dread. “Doctor, you haven’t mentioned the baby. Is the baby all right?”

  “I am sorry, Monsieur Burke. There was nothing we could do for the child. It was dead when Madame Burke arrived.”

  Dillon stared at the doctor without really seeing him. He had bargained for Debra’s life, but had left the terms openended. Now he knew what the price had been.

  Chapter Ten

  Morgantown, South Carolina, 1977

  Dr. Mitchell R. Hearon, Dean of Student Affairs and Financial Aid at Dander College in Morgantown, South Carolina, opened Jade Sperry’s application folder and passed her a slip of paper across his cluttered desk. “That’s a voucher. Present it at the bursar’s office on the day you register.”

  Her eyes moved from him to the stiff card he had handed her. Printed across the background etching of the college’s administration building was a check made out to her. She tried to blink the figures into focus, but even that was beyond her.

  “The amount will cover your tuition, books, and all fees,” the dean said. “You’ll be responsible for your living expenses, although the college will be happy to supply you with a list of available low-budget housing.”

  She could barely hear him over the clamor in her ears. “I… I don’t know how to thank you, Dr. Hearon.”

  “You can thank me by doing your best. Study hard. Apply yourself. Make your goals realities.”

  “Yes, yes. I will.” Relief and joy burst from her in the form of a laugh. She stood up abruptly, almost unbalancing herself. “Thank you! You won’t be sorry. You—”

  “You’re very welcome, Miss Sperry. I think you’ll be an asset to Dander College. We’re small, but we have a sterling academic reputation. We pride ourselves on the diligence and integrity of our students.”

  Circumstances had forced Jade to forfeit the scholarship to South Carolina State. After working for more than a year in a large discount store in Savannah, she had begun applying to other universities and colleges for financial assistance. Again she glanced down at the check in her hand, barely allowing herself to believe that it was genuine.

  To conclude the interview, Dr. Hearon stood and extended his hand. “I would appreciate a visit once you’ve been matriculated. I’ll be interested to see what courses you choose for your first semester. The faculty takes a personal interest in each student.”

  “I’ll come see you, I promise. Thank you again.” Jade rushed to the door. After pulling it open, she glanced back at him over her shoulder. “Oh, and thank the other members of the scholarship committee, too.”

  “I will. Goodbye, Miss Sperry.”

  “Goodbye.”

  The long corridor beyond his office suite was empty and hushed. Jade wanted to shout her elation toward the Gothic arched ceiling but managed to contain herself. Nevertheless, she ran for the doors at the end of the corridor with far more abandon than the stateliness of the architecture ordained.

  Once outside, she gave her exuberance free rein. She leaned against an imposing, fluted column and stared at the voucher before clutching it to her chest like a gleeful miser. Then, tucking it safely inside her handbag, she left the shade of the colonnaded porch of the administration building and walked into the late summer sunshine.

  It seemed brighter and friendlier than when she had nervously entered the building. The flowers blooming along the landscaped sidewalks were brilliant. The sky was exceptionally blue, the clouds white and without blemish. She had never noticed how intensely green grass was, or was the grass on the campus of Dander College inordinately verdant?

  It was as though she, like Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, had suddenly been thrust from a world of black and white into one of vivid Technicolor. She had been through pure hell, but had emerged on the other side to discover that life might be worth the struggle after all.

  The Westminster chimes in the campus chapel’s bell tower struck the hour as she jogged past the library. She was imbued with a sense of peace and optimism that she hadn’t experienced since before the rape. Today, she had been granted a new beginning.

  Her car was reluctant to start and even more reluctant to go over thirty miles an hour without the heat indicator flashing on. It had barely survived the trip from Savannah. Since the drive took several hours, they had come the day before. After checking in to the Pine Haven Motor Court, Jade had used the remaining daylight hours to acquaint herself with the college community.

  The campus formed the nucleus of the town, which Jade thought had charm and character. The only local industry was the college, and the domed administration building was the town’s only skyscraper. Surrounding the campus were gracious neighborhoods comprised of stately homes that housed faculty members. Morgantown’s commercial district was compact and sufficient to fulfill her needs.

  Where would they live? Would they be able to find an inexpensive apartment close to campus so that she could walk to classes and keep the car free for Velta’s use? The fall semester wouldn’t begin for another month, but there was so much to do before that. Which should she look for first—a part-time job or a place to live?

  She parked the car in front of cabin number 3 and, with a laugh of self-derision, chided herself for falling into her characteristic pattern of worrying. Today she would relax and celebrate. Being awarded this scholarship was the first positive step toward achieving her ultimate goal—seeing Gary’s murderers punished.

  As surely as Neal Patchett, Hutch Jolly, and Lamar Griffith had raped her, they were responsible for Gary’s suicide. If her resolve to see justice done was ever shaken, she had only to recall the sight of Gary’s
body dangling at the end of that rope. With their violence and treachery and lies, Neal and his cronies had driven him to suicide.

  Jade wouldn’t rest until they had paid for their crimes. Revenge wouldn’t come quickly. It would be a slow, painstaking process that might take years to fulfill, but she was prepared for that. Thanks to Dr. Hearon and his committee, she was on her way.

  Expecting the cabin door to be locked, she was surprised when it swung open. “Mother? I got it!”

  Jade stepped into the small, musty room. The air-conditioner in the window labored to put out cool air but to little avail. Her brain registered three things immediately. There was a packed suitcase at her mother’s feet. A man Jade had come to loathe was standing on the other side of the suitcase. And Graham, her baby son, was crying in his portable crib.

  Jade paused on the threshold and tried to puzzle through what the packed suitcase implied. Velta’s stare was stony and defiant. The man’s eyes were shifty and wouldn’t meet Jade’s. She wanted to demand an explanation, but maternal instincts won out. Dropping her handbag on the bed, she moved to the crib and lifted the crying baby into her arms.

  She cuddled Graham against her chest. “Shh, darling. What’s wrong? Mommy’s here now. Everything’s okay.” She rocked him until he stopped crying, then addressed her mother. “What is he doing here?”

  The man’s name was Harvey something, or something Harvey. Jade couldn’t remember. She had intentionally blocked it from her mind after ripping up his business card and hurling the pieces at his face. She had insisted that if he didn’t leave the maternity ward voluntarily, she would have him evicted. Although he presented himself as the founder and director of a private adoption agency, Jade had a different interpretation of his career. He was to an adoption agency what a drug dealer is to a pharmacist.

  Harvey had been Velta’s find. She had told Jade that he was the answer to all their problems—namely, Jade’s illegitimate child. Without consulting Jade, Velta had brought him to the hospital the day after Graham was born. Harvey had offered her several thousand dollars for her baby boy.