Scent of Triumph

by Jan Moran

  Danielle reached for a chair and leaned into it, her heart racing. “Are we going home?” She knew that Max, in one of his many meetings, had visited British officials to enlist aid for their plight. As a German citizen, Max could return to Poland, but they feared the risk of Danielle’s return.

  “Not you, my darling. I want you to go to France.”

  She turned cold inside at the thought of Max leaving her. “Without you?”

  “It’s the only way, darling. With France at war with Germany, I can’t enter France. And in your state, you should be with your family.”

  She realized he was right, and nodded in numb acquiescence. A flutter of knowledge filled her. “Then you’re going home.”

  Max nodded and knelt before her, his expression earnest, droplets of rain still clinging to his face. “The British government has also asked me to work for them.”

  Her eyes widened in astonishment. “Why?”

  “My asylum here is temporary. If I don’t work with England, then officials assume I’m against them. I could be imprisoned.” His mouth tightened. “Or worse.”

  “Just for being a German national?”

  Max took her hands and rubbed them. “I can’t blame them. My only choice is to travel into Germany as part of a British intelligence team.”

  “You mean, as a spy?” She fought the urge to scream. Outside, the rain grew harder, pelting against the roof like pebbles. “How can you even consider this?” she snapped. “Is it not enough that our family is in danger?”

  “I have no choice, Danielle. It is done. I leave next week.”

  “Can’t you get our family out without having to spy for the British government?”

  “No, it’s part of our agreement. From Germany, I’ll be able to enter Poland to find Mother and Nicky and Heinrich. Then Jean-Claude will help us send them on to France.”

  She paused as his words registered, and her heart sank. “Won’t you be with them?”

  “No, I’ll continue working for the British secret service. They need me, Danielle. My skills and language are critical in the fight against totalitarian aggression.”

  “It’s their fight, Max. All I want is my family.”

  He shook his head. “This is the only way. We must commit ourselves to maintaining liberty on the European continent.” He lowered his eyes. “Besides, they’ll pay me well. God knows we need the money.”

  Danielle’s throat constricted and her head swirled, her eyes welling with tears of frustration and anger. So, that’s what this was about. They needed the money, yet Max was too proud to ask her father for assistance. I can’t believe it. She paused in thought. Still, Max promised to bring Nicky and Sofia to safety. She pressed her hands against the pressure building in her temples.

  “Trust me, darling.” Max removed her hands and cradled her face, kissing the tears from her cheeks.

  Danielle met his lips with hers, then pulled back and searched his earnest eyes. He’s doing what he can, she told herself. She leaned back against the sofa, anger draining from her aching head. How I wish I could go with him. She closed her eyes and sighed. “So you want me to go to France.”

  “It’s best for you and the baby. There’s a ferry to France that leaves the same day I do.”

  “How will you get into Germany?

  Max hesitated. “We’ll parachute in.”

  “Mon Dieu!” Her eyes flew open and she clutched his arm, terror slicing through her.

  “Don’t worry your pretty head about it. I’ll be fine.”

  She rested her head on his shoulder, her heart racing, her palms damp. With every fiber of her being, she knew disaster awaited him, yet she refused to acknowledge her feeling. Not this time, she decided, balling her fists. This time will be different. Max will return with Nicky. God help him, he will. Her stomach coiled in on itself, and nausea crept to her throat. She swallowed against the bile, clenching her teeth.

  He stroked her hair and they held one another for what seemed like an eternity, listening to the deluge outside as the rain pounded the windows like demon fists.

  * * *

  The next morning, Danielle was writing a letter to her mother when Hadley knocked on the door to say Miss Abigail was on the telephone for her. She raced downstairs to the hallway and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

  “Danielle, Father told me you’re leaving for France. I’d like to give a farewell dinner for you, if you’re feeling up to it. Can you make it tomorrow?”

  “We’d love to.”

  “Wonderful, we all need to be with friends now, Danielle, now more than ever. I’ll see you and Max tomorrow then, say eight o’clock? We’ll have cocktails first.”

  “Of course. And Abigail, thank you,” she added softly. How she would miss Abigail.

  When Max returned that evening, he was unusually quiet.

  “Is everything all right?” Danielle asked.

  “Just more bureaucratic issues.” His voice sounded flat.

  “Are you still going?”

  “Yes, but Heinrich....” He heaved a great sigh and shook his head.

  A silent alarm went off in Danielle’s head. She’d always felt uncomfortable with Max’s cousin. He never looked her in the eyes, yet she would catch him studying her when he thought she couldn’t see him. She remembered one day as she spoke, seeing his mocking face in a reflection on a window, and she shivered at the memory. “What about him?”

  “Nothing, Danielle. Never mind. I have another appointment in the morning.”

  She made no reply, but she had an eerie feeling in the pit of her stomach about Heinrich, and shuddered with uneasiness.

  * * *

  The next evening Libby insisted Hadley take Max and Danielle to Abigail’s home in the motor car. She and Herb had a prior official engagement. “It’s good to get out,” Libby said to Max. “We must go on with life. Just take heed. If you hear an air siren, run for cover.”

  Now, as Danielle emerged from the bath in her robe, she saw Max sitting in a chair waiting for her. He had already dressed, and now he sat cradling his new pipe in his hand, its ember glowing. She saw him gazing into space.

  “What’s on your mind, darling?”

  He swung his eyes back to her. “Just thinking about my meetings. I have much to study and memorize before my mission.”

  His voice sounded odd. She put a hand on her hip. “You’re not telling me everything.”

  “You’re right.” He lifted a corner of his mouth in a clear expression of disgust. “There’s a report that Heinrich has joined the Nazis. The thought of it makes me sick.”

  Danielle felt a knowing shiver course through her.

  Max continued. “Before we left, Heinrich and I had an argument about Hitler. He thinks Hitler holds the key to economic prosperity and renewed national pride.” He paused, and the ember in his pipe glowed red as he drew on it. “One of my assignments is to find Heinrich and extract military information from him.”

  Danielle felt a sense of terror growing within her, but after their last disagreement, she had committed herself to supporting Max in his quest. We are in this together. Determined to be calm now, she sat before the mirrored vanity, slipped off her robe and dusted her shoulders with powder. “I trust you’ll do the right thing, Max.”

  He blew a ring of smoke through his lips, and as he did, his eyes met hers in the mirror. A flash of understanding passed between them. “Tonight is our last night together for a long time,” he said softly.

  “Maybe not that long,” she said with a wistful smile. She stood and retrieved an outfit from the closet. She stepped into a violet wool skirt and fastened it, then slipped on the matching dinner jacket with rhinestone buttons that Libby had given her. It was another cast-off, but it was still attractive.

  “You look beautiful, Danielle.” Max cocked his head. “You did an excellent alteration on that suit. My darling wife, you have an exquisite sense of style.”

  She laughed lightly. “I enjoy designing an
d sewing.”

  He puffed on his pipe. “Your triple strand of pearls would have looked nice with the outfit,” he said, a note of guilt in his voice. “I’m sorry now that we sold them.”

  She crossed to him and touched his face, and angled his chin up with her finger. She saw sadness in his eyes. “It’s nothing, darling. Let’s just be glad that I was wearing them the day the ship went down. We needed the money for my travel back to France.”

  “And soon, for your maternity clothes and medical attention. Perhaps I should have asked your father to wire funds.”

  She kissed him lightly, tasting the vanilla-scented tobacco on his lips. “Don’t worry,” she said with a deliberate shrug. “Besides,” she added with a bright smile, holding out her left hand, “we kept the ring.”

  “Yes, we did. My mother’s emerald ring. It’s been in our family for many years.” He kissed her again.

  Danielle returned to the vanity. The sweet sultry smoke from Max’s pipe curled around the room as she wound her long hair into a sleek chignon and secured it with hairpins.

  He stood behind her, his hands caressing her shoulders as he had last night when they’d made love, slowly and tenderly, due to the baby. “You are the only woman I’ve ever loved,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “and I will love you forever.”

  She smiled up at him in the mirror, feeling very close to him now. She reached for her perfume and applied the scent between her breasts and on her wrists. She trailed the stopper behind her knees and at her ankles, and finally, applied another dab on the nape of her neck and touched her upswept hair. Even as a young girl, she’d always loved applying perfume, it made her feel feminine, complete, and chic.

  Max nuzzled her neck. “That’s my favorite.”

  “It’s the one I created for our wedding day.”

  “It was kind of your uncle to send your perfumes when we arrived here. Danielle, I must admit now, I might have been a little jealous of your talent.”

  Suddenly, the windows rattled. “What was that?” she cried, her hand at her throat.

  “I think a door slammed downstairs.”

  “I thought for a moment—”

  “I know. So did I.” She rotated her neck against the sudden tension she felt. As Max massaged her shoulders, she realized how little time they had left together, and for all their differences and disagreements, how much she would miss him.

  Danielle turned back to the mirror and, with a resolute flick of her finger, brushed on a wine-colored lip rouge. She snapped the lid shut and turned to face Max.

  “You look exquisite.” He put his pipe down. “May I help you with the cape?”

  “Please.”

  Max draped Libby’s black mink cape across Danielle’s shoulders.

  She whirled around, the scarlet-lined mink cape flaring about her, and stopped in his embrace. This is the man I have loved for so long, the father of my children. How I will miss him. She felt him stroke her cheek with the back of his fingers.

  “You grow more beautiful every day, Danielle. I loved you from the first moment I saw you.”

  As he kissed her again, she felt his hands caressing the silky fur and her blossoming body beneath it, and knew they would make love again for the last time tonight.

  “This is like old times,” he said.

  “I’d give anything for those old times again,” she murmured.

  “Soon, my love, we’ll be together.”

  She managed a wistful smile, took a step back and tilted her head. “Jon’s old suit fits you well. Libby’s tailor did a fine job. And I agree with him, you do look like the Duke of Wales.”

  “Nonsense,” he said, though he seemed pleased at her compliment. He held the door for her, then Hadley helped them into the car. They rode in silence, gazing out the windows as they snaked through the dimly lit streets.

  Libby had once described the Newell-Grey’s Art Nouveau-styled home as an ocean liner. It loomed ahead on a corner, sleek and curvaceous, with long lines and rounded corners. Round porthole windows framed the front door and a shiny brass railing lined the second-floor balcony. High above them on the darkened balcony two figures stood waving at them.

  Danielle waved back. “It’s Jon and Cameron.” She’d missed Jon, and looked forward to talking with him again. Max helped her from the car and hurried her to the door. She shivered and drew into her cape.

  The front door flew open and light flooded the stoop like a beacon. “Come in, darlings,” Abigail said, smiling and laughing. “I’ll take your coats. Though Max, you might want to keep yours if you plan to join the two renegades on the balcony.”

  Danielle rubbed her arms. “Thanks, but I’ll keep my cape a little longer. What are they doing?”

  “Watching for enemy aircraft. It was Cameron’s idea. What a maniac he is. No matter what the press says, I don’t believe London will ever be bombed.” A shadow crossed her face. “The Nazis can find better targets, like His Majesty’s armed forces, poor boys.”

  Max kept his coat on. “I believe I’ll join them upstairs. Perhaps I can coax them down.”

  Abigail laughed. “Do your best. We’ll sit by the fireplace until dinner is served.”

  As Danielle followed Abigail to the sitting room, she sniffed the air. “Dinner smells delicious. I love nutmeg, it always reminds me of home.”

  Abigail looked surprised. “You are good. That’s the secret ingredient in my pheasant recipe. You’d make a great chef.”

  Danielle laughed. “I prefer perfumery, it’s the language of love.”

  “So is cooking,” Abigail replied with a wink.

  Danielle laughed again with her, then the two friends made themselves comfortable near the brightly burning blaze.

  “This is wonderful.” Danielle sank into a black leather club chair and glanced about the room, impressed at the quality and creativeness of her surroundings. The curved beam ceiling soared overhead and the entire room was decorated with teakwood paneling and brass fixtures. She spied a Turner seascape above the fireplace, with the artist’s signature light reflected on a turbulent sea. She shuddered at the remembrance of her last ill-fated Atlantic crossing, the scent of kelp and salt rushing in her head. The Turner painting was eerily realistic.

  Abigail followed her gaze. “Feel like you’re back at sea? Father loves his work.”

  They went on to talk about their families, and Danielle asked her how long she would be staying in London.

  “Not long, I need to go back to Los Angeles for a Red Cross fundraiser. Do you know what you’re going to do?”

  Her stomach tightened. “Our priority is to find our family. Until then, I’ll stay with my family in France.”

  Abigail leaned forward. “Daddy told me about Max’s mission. He’s a brave man.”

  “I wish I could join him.”

  “I know how you feel. Listen, Danielle, people are fleeing Europe in droves, many are sailing to New York. If the Germans reach France, what will you do?”

  “I hope it never comes to that.” France? She shivered at the thought. The Maginot Line insured protection; everyone knew that. France was virtually impenetrable. She shivered again.

  Abigail looked concerned. “You and Max should come to the States as you’d once planned. Have you ever thought about Los Angeles? I could help you get settled. The weather is marvelous, and it’s a growing city.”

  “We can’t consider anything until our family is reunited. Now that Max has joined the war effort, our plan to relocate our business is on hold.” Danielle gazed into the fire, saddened by the plight of their family, friends, and employees in Poland. “We were simply too late with our plan.”

  “This must be a nightmare for you.” Abigail clucked her tongue. “But you should consider Los Angeles. I happen to love America, it’s fabulous.”

  Danielle forced a smile. “So I’ve heard. Gold in the streets, or so they say.”

  “Not quite. But look at Cameron Murphy.” Abigail brightened. “Imagine,
he was one of eleven children in a family from County Cork, Ireland. Had a terrible childhood, from what he’s told me, poor as beggars. He said his father beat him so badly once that, when he could manage, he ran away and worked his way to America, then to Los Angeles. Why, he was only fifteen at the time.”

  “How did he become such a success?” Danielle rubbed her hands in front of the fire and her circulation began to return.

  “He worked at our Long Beach shipping dock, that’s where he and Jon met, until he found a job as a bartender in a private club. Whilst he tended bar, he also sang a little, and that was when one of the record producers heard him. After a vocal test, the rest, as they say, is history.”

  Abigail rose from her chair and crossed to an inlaid table bearing crystal-decanted liqueurs. “Sherry to warm you?”

  Danielle pressed a hand to her belly. “Just soda, merci.”

  “Oh, forgive me. You’re a smart mother.” She poured a soda. “Anyway, you can’t believe everything you hear. Sure, Cameron’s a rascal sometimes, but he always helps the Red Cross, brings out other stars, too. He’s never said no to me.”

  “Why, that’s admirable.” The rascal she had met, but she’d never imagined such a generous, hard-working side to Cameron Murphy. She took the soda Abigail offered.

  “He’s a good man in that regard, despite the gossip. Of course, he and Jon don’t always see eye to eye.”

  “Why not?”

  “Cameron always gets the girl, I suppose. It’s an old rivalry.” Abigail inched her chair near the fire and cradled her glass of sherry. “The Cameron Murphy I know is sweet and kind, though he seems rather lost. I’d like to see him marry again.”

  Danielle lifted a brow. “Do I detect some interest on your part?”

  Abigail laughed. “He’s fun, but hardly my type. And my parents would simply die. No, I’m resigned to being an old maid, Danielle. I’ll probably never have children, and a virile man like that, well, I’m sure he wants scads of children.”

  Danielle heard a twinge of sadness in Abigail’s voice. Jon had confided to her that Abigail had recently broken an engagement with an old family friend, Sir Rutherford Morton. She decided to keep the conversation light. “Why did he divorce that actress, Erica Evans?”