by Jan Moran
“Good girl. I know you can do it.”
Danielle winced at his choice of words. Sometimes he made her feel so inconsequential, as if she were a little girl. Or maybe I’m just tired, she thought, and left it at that.
After a brief rest, Danielle woke. She sorted through the clothing Sarah had brought and selected a dark wool suit to try on. She zipped the skirt closed, pinned the waist fullness to fit, and folded under the jacket sleeves to shorten them. She brushed her hair and wound it into a simple chignon.
But something was missing, and she realized with a pang of sadness that she felt bare without her perfume. It was the first time she could remember not applying perfume as she dressed. That’s the least of our worries, she thought. Shrugging the feeling off, she finished dressing, then turned to Max. “Ready when you are.”
The Newell-Greys and Libby and Herb Leibowitz greeted them in the foyer. After exchanging pleasantries, Max turned to Jon. “Good to see you again.”
“Likewise, old boy. You both look much better. Say, I’d better warn you, my sister Abigail is right behind us with a friend of hers, the singing star, Cameron Murphy. He’s an old friend of ours from Los Angeles, he’s working on a Red Cross charity project for her here in London.”
At that, Abigail and Cameron entered.
Abigail greeted Danielle and Max with warmth. She clasped Danielle’s hand. “Jon told me all about you this afternoon. I’m so sorry to hear of your dreadful predicament.” Abigail’s face softened with concern. “Your poor little boy. Is he your only child?”
Danielle nodded.
“I have a soft spot in my heart for children,” Abigail continued. “They should not have to suffer the woes of the world. If I ever had children—” A strange expression crossed Abigail’s face and she coughed into her hand.
I wonder what’s troubling her? Danielle gave her a moment, and as she waited, she saw that Abigail favored her older brother, with the same liquid brown eyes and wavy chestnut brown hair, though her features were more delicate. Tall and slim, she had the athletic build of the Newell-Grey family, and her complexion was alabaster smooth. She wore a black sheath-style dress with a single strand of large creamy pearls at her throat. Danielle detected the subtle aroma of lily of the valley emanating from her skin and hair.
Abigail regained her composure. “I should introduce my friend, Cameron Murphy.”
Cameron greeted everyone in turn. With his charming manner and darkly handsome, Hollywood features, Danielle understood why he had a reputation as a ladies’ man.
“I promised Abigail I’d call when I came to London.” Cameron’s melodic voice resonated sensuality. “And I never break a promise to a beautiful woman.”
Laughter bubbled in Abigail’s throat. “Don’t believe him. He’s left a string of broken hearts and promises in his wake. Thank goodness we’re just friends.”
Cameron turned to Danielle and bowed, his black eyes dancing. “She lies, madame, do I look like a slimy swain?” He gave her an alluring smile, took her hand and kissed it. “I am but a noble knight, at the bidding of damsels in distress.”
Danielle didn’t have the energy to muster a snappy reply. And when Max cleared his throat, she knew he was only partly jesting. She withdrew her hand, and crinkled her nose as she caught a whiff of Irish whiskey from Cameron’s kiss. Northern Ireland whiskey, she noted, her brain instantly recalling the aroma. Bushmills. Still, he was charming.
“Come on Cam, she’s taken.” Jon glanced pointedly at Max. “Careful with your wife around this one. He’s been known to melt the will of nuns.”
Abigail arched a brow at Jon. “Oh Jon, you’re just jealous because Cameron always steals your girlfriends. Speaking of which, where’s Victoria?”
“On holiday in Ireland with friends,” Jon said with a shrug.
Abigail raised a brow, then took Cameron’s elbow. “Let’s have drinks, I believe I promised you a Pimm’s Cup.”
They moved to the verandah for cocktails. The conversation continued, turning to the sinking of the Newell-Grey Explorer and Germany’s advances.
Danielle sipped water and listened as Max spoke first in defense of the German people, then against Hitler. He’d always taken pride in his homeland. His father’s family was an old and distinguished line.
The heated discussion continued through dinner. Danielle managed the chicken broth, but couldn’t stomach the lamb chops. Listening to Nathan and Herb, it was clear they were businessmen of considerable influence with keen political insights. At last, she gave in to exhaustion, and Max followed her upstairs.
They sat on the couch in front of the fireplace. She removed the pins from her hair, sank her throbbing head into her hands and rubbed her temples.
“I feel so useless, Max. What can we do about Nicky and Sofia?”
He put his arms around her. “I fear there’s not much we can do.”
Why was he sounding so defeated? She arched away from him. “We’ve got to go back right away.”
“Perhaps Poland can defend herself against Germany.”
“But you heard what Herb Leibowitz said at dinner. Poland cannot stand against Nazi Germany. We must get our family away from those monsters.”
“Have faith, Danielle.”
“Faith? Faith has nothing to do with this.” What on earth was wrong with him? She punctuated her words with her finger. “Don’t be condescending to me. What about my son?”
“Damn it, he’s my son, too!”
Danielle stared at him, stunned at his uncharacteristic outbreak.
A chinoiserie clock on the Chippendale desk ticked loudly in the silence.
Max stood and strode to the mantle, clearly exasperated.
Danielle’s intuition prickled on the back of her neck. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Darling, we just have to have patience with the British authorities. We, or they, may have a plan.”
She felt like screaming. Struggling against the rising tide of emotion she felt, she managed to say, “But patience can cost the lives of our family.”
Max gripped the mantle and shook his head. “Actually, there is another way.”
She sat with her arms crossed, glaring at him, fighting to suppress her impatience. “What does the British government have to do with us?”
“There may be a way to contact Mother through them.”
“How?” The edge in Danielle’s voice made him turn around. She stood with her hands on her hips, shoulders squared.
“Well? Tell me.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, passing his hands over his face. “I wanted to protect you from all of this. I tried to protect everyone, and look where we are.” He waved his hand around the room, then let it drop. He sighed, then straightened, and nodded to himself. “All right, Danielle, but what I am about to tell you requires the absolute utmost in secrecy. Do you understand?”
“Go on.”
“It involves your brother.”
Danielle felt her heart pounding. Why couldn’t he just get to the point? Her voice rose with agitation. “Jean-Claude? But he’s in medical school in Paris, how can he help us?”
“Shhh.” Max held a finger to his lips and moved close to Danielle. He continued in a low voice. “He has connections.”
“What do you mean?”
“During his visit this past June, do you remember his friendship with Katrina, my secretary’s niece?”
“Of course, but how is this important?”
“Jean-Claude helped Katrina’s family escape from occupied Czechoslovakia and cross into Portugal, from where they sailed to the United States.”
Danielle took a step back, shaking her head in confusion. “My brother was responsible? Why didn’t I know this?” She narrowed her eyes.
“No one was to know. Jean-Claude is involved with underground networks across Europe that work against Hitler’s regime. He helps free innocent people. Your brother has a deep sense of justice.”
&nbs
p; A silence hung between them, the clock thundering with each passing second.
A shiver ran down Danielle’s spine. True, Jean-Claude’s concern for human suffering led him to the medical field. “But his studies....”
“What he does now is not so very different. It is dangerous, but he is saving lives, just as surely as a doctor saves lives on the operating table.”
“I–I had no idea.” She thought she and her brother shared everything. What else didn’t she know?
Max took her hand. “Europe is connected by cells of people like your brother, people who have the courage to help others in need, people who devote their lives to end Hitler’s advances. You should be proud of Jean-Claude, but we must keep this confidential. His life depends on it. Not even his wife or your parents know about this, especially not your father. I swore on my life to keep his secret.”
“Hélène doesn’t know?” Danielle frowned. “No, I guess Jean-Claude wouldn’t want to worry her, she’s so busy with little Liliana. And Papa—”
Max cut her off. “As long as your father’s bank continues to finance Germany’s industrial expansion, he must never know about Jean-Claude’s activities.”
“But Papa is just one of many board members. He says it’s only business.” Her head pounded as she pieced together information, and her heart sank at her realization. “Who knew that the bank’s funds would be used for munitions, to mount an army to advance against other countries?”
She pressed a hand to her mouth, remembering. “Jean-Claude thinks Papa’s job is a betrayal of Maman, of us, and of all those of Jewish heritage.”
Max’s lips formed a thin line. “Jean-Claude is right.”
Sorrow ached in her limbs, but now she understood her brother’s involvement. Hitler’s ambition and ideology tore at the very fabric of her family. She lifted her eyes to Max. “How can Hitler—just one man—harbor such hatred, yet inspire so many?”
Max shrugged helplessly.
“Why did Jean-Claude share this with you?”
“I know someone in Portugal, in the government. They provided Katrina’s family with documents.”
Danielle wiped perspiration from her upper lip. Her entire world had changed in a matter of days. Her family and home were under siege, and now her brother was in the underground.
She hugged her arms to herself, reality dawning on her. “Are you involved with this secret organization?”
“No, I haven’t had time. But now, we have no choice. Perhaps Jean-Claude can get a message to Mother.”
Hope surged in her heart. “I just want to know that they’re all right, and if we can get them out of Poland. If we can, oh darling, I’d never ask for another thing as long as I live. Let’s wire Jean-Claude right away.”
She hugged him, warm tears spilling onto her cheeks, and she prayed it was not too late.
Max buried his face in her hair. They held one another for a long time, exhausted, listening to the clock’s measured rhythm, the minutes marching on.
After such a long, tumultuous day, Danielle felt herself drifting to sleep in his arms.
But still, something gnawed at her, and she felt a strange sense of terror gathering in her chest. What had Max meant about a plan with the British government?
4
Danielle pulled up the shades in their suite at the Leibowitz home. At night, all of England was under strict orders to darken windows. As she stood at the window, thin rays of morning light warmed her face, though the moist smell of rain felt heavy in her nose.
Outside, leaves had fallen from the autumn trees. She pressed her fingers against the glass, her heart laden with memories. The sun quickly faded, and moments later raindrops began to dot the windowpane; in another minute heavy rain sluiced across the glass, permeating the room with dampness. She sighed and closed her eyes, longing for the warmth and beauty of the south of France, where she had spent so many summers at her uncle’s home in Grasse and in his laboratory, blending perfume, developing her nose and her honing craft. As children, she and her brother had frolicked in fragrant fields of lavender, just as she and her darling little Nicky had done a few weeks before she and Max had left for New York.
Danielle massaged her aching temples. They’d received a letter from Jean-Claude, but still, there was no trace of Sofia, Nicky, or Heinrich. They’d vanished like dew in the midday sun.
How long would they have to wait for news? She tried to hold out hope, but her spirits were sagging. Not knowing anything, she thought, that’s the worst of it.
A knock sounded at the door. Danielle adjusted a quilted pink satin robe Libby had given her over her expanding belly. “Come in,” she called.
Libby opened the door. “Thought you might like to share breakfast, what with Max away at his meeting.”
Danielle arranged a smile on her face, truly grateful for Libby’s companionship. “I’d love to, Libby.” Behind Libby stood Sarah, who wore a crisp white apron and held a tray. This upstairs breakfast had become a ritual whenever Max went out early. It began when Danielle was too queasy to take breakfast downstairs, but thankfully, her morning sickness had passed.
Sarah placed the tray on the Queen Anne table in front of the Georgian-mantled fireplace, then turned to revive the fire.
In an instant, Danielle sensed a familiar aroma, but no, she thought, shaking her head, it couldn’t be. She tried to push the memories of Grasse from her mind. Sometimes her memories and dreams were so vivid, she could actually sense aromas, like the sweet, buttery scent of the boulangerie in Grasse where they bought croissants, or the bountiful aromas in the perfume laboratory, or the fresh smell of Nicky’s silky hair in the summer sun. His laughter tinkled in her ears, and she could feel his soft cheek against hers. If only he had come with us. She shook her head again, pushing the thought that endlessly tortured her from her mind.
Libby, fresh-faced in a blue woolen morning dress, sat on the floral chintz sofa and patted a spot next to her. “It’s so nice to have company in the house. I don’t know what I’ll do when you leave.”
Danielle sat beside her and grasped Libby’s tiny hand. She cherished the sturdy little woman, who always smelled of Floris Lavender and who, so quickly, had become like a surrogate mother to her. She gave her a warm smile. “We’ll always keep in touch.”
With a sly grin, Libby lifted a silver dome from the tray.
Danielle’s eyes grew wide at the sight. So she hadn’t been imagining this time. “Croissants! I thought I smelled them! But where did you find them?” Rations were underway in England, and butter, a prime ingredient in croissants, was in short supply.
Libby laughed. “His Majesty sent a basket of delicacies to Herb, thanking him for his work. Not that thanks were needed, mind you, but it was a nice gesture.”
Danielle nodded. Since war had been declared, Herb Leibowitz and Nathan Newell-Grey had spent hours consulting with the government, Herb on financial matters, and Nathan on Naval defense.
Sarah coaxed a bright blaze in the fireplace, then poured coffee, clucking her tongue as she did.
“Sarah still disapproves of my love of coffee in the morning,” Libby said with a smile, “but I prefer my tea in the afternoon. Thank you, Sarah. That will be all.” She turned to Danielle. “Strawberry jam with your croissant?”
“Sounds wonderful.” Danielle pinched off a piece of croissant, spread jam on it, and put it into her mouth, savoring the taste. “How is Mr. Newell-Grey? And Jon? We haven’t seen him in ages.”
Libby shook her head. “Nathan and Jon have been busy converting Newell-Grey ocean liners for military service, making room for military equipment. Even the Queen Mary will be pressed into service next year. I understand there are plans to paint her charcoal and call her the Grey Ghost.”
So, Jon had his hands full. It’s just as well, Danielle thought, recalling how close they’d become aboard the Newell-Grey Explorer. In fact, from the instant they’d met, she had felt a connection with Jon. She pushed the thought from he
r mind, though an odd pang of regret persisted.
“Coffee?”
“Hmm? Oh yes, thank you, Libby.” She shook her head. “I’ve had a lot on my mind this morning.”
Libby poured a cup and handed it to her. “Did you hear the morning news on the radio?”
Danielle felt her pulse quicken. France had joined England in the war against Germany, and both countries were well underway with military plans. “No, what happened?”
“Russia and Germany have signed a treaty establishing a line of demarcation through Poland.”
Her hand wavering, she put the cup down. She pushed her croissant away, swallowing hard against the bile that suddenly rose in her throat.
Libby touched Danielle’s hand, and went on. “The Polish government has fled to France.”
“That means Poland has been divided between the victors.” Danielle pressed her hand to her mouth. The denouement. No doubt, this would complicate their plan to find Nicky and Sofia.
Libby put her coffee down and placed her arm across Danielle’s shoulder, pulling her close. “I’m so sorry, my dear.”
“Oh, Libby, it’s all so horrible.” She sighed and leaned into the small woman, grateful for her comfort. Her head swirled. When would this madness stop?
Suddenly, Max opened the door and rushed in, waving a telegram in his hand. “This came just as I returned. It’s from Jean-Claude.”
Danielle leapt to her feet. “Mon Dieu!” Hope and dread surged in her heart.
Max gave it to Danielle. “Here, you open it.”
Libby glanced at them and stood. “I’ll leave you alone,” she said, and closed the door behind her.
Danielle grabbed the damp telegram and pressed it to her lips, smelling the thin soggy paper, then tore it open and began to read. “Family not at home. Neighbor reports family left in automobile.” She stared at the telegram, then let it fall from her hand, her hope plunging along with it. They’re still missing.
“Good, they’ve escaped.” Max rapped his fist in a staccato rhythm in his hand, and began to pace. “They’re probably in hiding.” He stopped. “Do you feel well enough to travel?”