by Jan Moran
If only Cameron were more like Jon. If only. Still, Cameron was incredibly, unrelentingly passionate.
Danielle pressed her hands against her throbbing temples as she came to her difficult decision.
She reached into the nightstand for a pen and writing paper. She scratched a brief, hasty reply to Jon, sprayed it with perfume, as was her custom, then folded the letter and sealed it in an envelope.
The next morning, Danielle waited on the street outside of her apartment with an armload of dresses she’d carried downstairs, not wanting Abigail to see the chaos in her apartment. She hoped Abigail would like the new slim silhouettes. Fabric was scarce due to the war effort, so she'd tapered her designs to skim the body and use very little material. Her new designs were perfect for Abigail's athletic figure.
Abigail arrived at exactly nine o’clock, as they’d arranged. She waved and pulled her car to the curb.
“I can’t wait to show you my latest designs,” Danielle said, placing the garments carefully in the back seat.
Abigail laughed. “I don’t know which of us is more excited. I can’t wait to try them on. I need something very special for this V.I.P. luncheon.”
Danielle swung her legs into the car and shut the door. “Will Lou be there?”
Abigail smiled. “He seems to turn up wherever I go.”
The two friends chatted as Abigail started back to her home.
“Abigail, I need to post a letter. Mind stopping at the Beverly Hills post office?”
“It’s on the way.”
Abigail stopped, and Danielle stepped from the car to mail her letter to Jon, thinking that it might be the last one she’d write to him. Thoughts of Cameron and Jon swirled in her mind, and she shook her head. She hurried back to the car, and Abigail continued to her nearby home.
“Here we are. Danielle, let me help you with those.”
“You just want a peek!”
The two women hurried into the house, and Abigail kicked off her shoes, eager to begin trying on the clothes that Danielle had made.
Danielle held up a rich plum-colored dress. “This is my favorite for you.”
“Mmm, this deep violet dress is beautiful, too.”
“This collection is all in rich jewel tones, which work beautifully with your complexion. Here, start trying them on. I’ll fit them to you when you’re ready.” Danielle reached into her black bag and brought out an embroidered pouch. “I have a new perfume for you, too. I was inspired by this new collection.” She opened the pouch and dabbed the elixir on Abigail’s outstretched wrist.
“It’s heavenly!” Abigail picked up several dresses. “I love that you’re branching out into fashion, Danielle. You’re going to be a mogul some day! Help yourself to coffee while I change. The housekeeper should have a fresh pot in the kitchen. She’s gone to the market, but make yourself at home.”
“Thanks, with these late nights of work, I could use another cup.” Danielle made her way through Abigail’s elegant home, across the polished hardwood floors, and past long white divans and vases of fragrant pink calla lilies into Abigail’s cheerful yellow kitchen.
As she was pouring coffee, the telephone rang. She heard Abigail call to her, “Darling, will you answer that for me.”
Danielle picked up the phone. “Hello?”
The line crackled, and she heard an operator’s voice. “I have an international call for Abigail Newell-Grey. Do you accept?”
Danielle accepted the call. A man’s deep voice boomed across the line.
“Is that you, Abigail? Hey sis, it’s Jon, can you hear me?”
Danielle felt her heart in her throat. “It’s me, Danielle.”
The line went quiet, and it seemed like an eternity before Jon answered. “Danielle! My God, it’s great to hear your voice!”
“Jon, where are you?”
“Can’t really say, but I wanted to tell—that I plan—in a few—hello? Are you there still?”
The line crackled, and Danielle could hardly make out his words. “You’re breaking up!”
“What?”
“Jon, I—I should congratulate you on your engagement.”
“Sorry, didn’t catch that—listen, I don’t have much time. Danielle, I have missed you so much.”
Danielle closed her eyes. These were the words she had longed to hear. But it was too late; he was engaged to be married. She opened her eyes and cleared her throat. "Jon, I want you to know—"
“What? Say again, Danielle.”
“I said—”
“Danielle, I’m—Angeles, want—speak to you.”
“What? Say that again?” The line sputtered and Danielle jiggled the phone. She couldn’t understand what he was saying. “Jon, are you still there?”
“I—you, Danielle.”
“Jon?” The line went dead. Danielle jiggled the telephone again. “Operator, operator? Can you get that call back?”
Jon stood by a country road, yelling into a phone at a farmer’s house. “I have to see you, Danielle. Can you hear me? I said I love you, and I have to see you. Wait for me!”
25
Two weeks later, Danielle knelt on the black and white checked linoleum floor in the studio fitting room, marking the hem of Erica’s ball gown, an ivory duchess satin dress Danielle had designed for the new Silverman Studios film, The Spanish Heiress.
“Can’t you hurry?” whined Erica.
“No, I can’t.” Danielle rocked back on her heels. “This is the dress Lou wants you to wear for the premiere, so it must be perfect. Now stand still.” With deft fingers she measured, marked, and pinned. “Walk,” she commanded.
Erica whirled, knocking Danielle over with the full skirt, the rich aroma of Caron’s Tabac Blond rising in the warm room.
Danielle caught herself and grimaced, swallowing her anger. I will not allow her to intimidate me. She knew the opportunity for her new Bretancourt line to be introduced on the silver screen was the break she needed. She would not let Erica ruin it with her petty actions.
Erica Evans had a well-earned reputation of being difficult. The costume designer for the film had quit after one of Erica’s tyrannical tizzy fits. By default, Danielle had been put in charge of completing the film’s costumes.
She’d had been given a small staff, but she insisted on fitting Erica herself. Although Erica was temperamental, Danielle wanted her suits and evening dresses to be perfect.
“Come here, Erica. I need to let the bodice out. Have you gained weight?” Danielle had given her strict orders not to gain weight, otherwise she’d have to refit the entire wardrobe. Not that Erica cared.
“Absolutely not.” Erica sucked in her stomach. With her buxom, rounded figure, she had a tendency toward plumpness.
“I know you didn’t gain ten pounds just by looking at that plate of enchiladas you ordered at lunch yesterday.”
“How did you—” Erica stopped. “What would you know? You’re too skinny, anyway.”
“Breathe naturally, Erica. I’ve got to let this out. You’re bulging over the top.”
Erica smiled coquettishly. “Something you wouldn’t know about, my sweet.”
“It’s not attractive in the back, trust me.” She slit a seam, sniffing. “Tabac Blond is a lovely parfum, but are you bathing in it?”
Erica smirked, she liked to annoy her by dousing herself with a competitor’s perfume. “Ouch, you poked me!”
Danielle stood and walked around to face Erica, mere inches from her face. “I’ve had all I can take of you.” She jabbed a finger in the air, punctuating her words. “Lou expects your clothes to be ready by the end of the week. You may have run off the last designer, but you won’t get rid of me.”
Erica folded her arms across her chest. “Oh, really. Let’s take the gloves off, shall we?” Her lips curved into a wicked smile. “Lou told me you’re marrying my husband.”
“Cameron is no longer your husband,” Danielle replied smoothly. She still hadn’t given Cameron a reply
. “You divorced him.”
“What does Cameron see in you?” Erica narrowed her eyes. “And that family of yours...you’ve got enough baggage to fill a railroad car.”
“Leave my family out of it.” Danielle picked up a pin and jabbed it into the side of Erica’s bodice.
“Ouch!” Erica glared. “Do you really know what you’re getting into? Or are you marrying Cam for the fame and fortune? Because if you are, I feel honor bound to tell you, there may be fame, but there’s no more fortune, honey.”
“Erica, we have work to do. Let’s just be civil.”
“Civil? You want to be civil?” Erica’s dark eyes flashed. “Okay, how about a little friendly advice, from the ex-Mrs. Murphy to the future ex-Mrs. Murphy. Here goes, honey. Time to meet your real husband.” She ticked off her fingers as she spoke. “He’s a charmer, a seducer, a drunk, and a spendthrift. And those are his good points. You’ll wind up hating him as much as you love him, and one day, you’ll throw him out the door, or pack your bags, just as I did. Mark my words. And when you do, he’ll run back to me. I know just how to lick his wounds,” she added with a smirk.
Danielle felt her face grow red. Her first thought was, What a jealous bitch! Then a small voice inside of her asked, What if she’s right? She put her fists on her hips. “I don’t believe a word of it.”
“Oh, you’ll see.” Erica struggled out of the dress, tearing a side seam in the process. She threw it on the floor and stomped out of the fitting room in her underwear, grabbing her clothes as she left.
Danielle picked up Erica’s dress, thinking about Cameron’s proposal and Erica’s so-called advice. Danielle knew she was right on some points. But he told me he wants to change, she thought, and I can help him. And Erica has mistakenly assumed one very important point: She thinks I love Cameron as much as she does. That’s where she’s wrong. And if I don’t fall in love with him, he can never hurt me.
Methodically, Danielle assembled her scissors, pins, and measuring tape. Cameron might serve her purpose just as she’d serve his. She needed to provide for her family. Cameron needed a wife to keep him grounded. We’ll help each other, she thought. And someday, who knows? We might even fall in love. After all, their physical passion for one another was proof enough of their attraction and compatibility.
Suddenly she stopped, as thoughts of Jon rushed into her mind, causing her heart to tighten with yearning. She felt her pulse roaring in her ears, and a prickly longing sensation gathering in her groin. No! she told herself, shaking her head, I must be practical. And then, although everything in her being warned against it, Danielle made a decision.
I will marry Cameron Murphy.
Moments later, Cameron appeared at the door, his mouth agape. “Erica just stormed past me in the hall wearing practically nothing. What did you do to her?”
Danielle looked up at him and smiled. “She’s heard of your proposal.”
Cameron grinned and took her in his arms, smothering her face with kisses. “Just say yes, Dani, I’ve waited too long for a woman like you.”
He did feel good, in a different way than Jon, or even Max, but still, she felt her body respond. It will be okay, she told herself. “You win, Cameron. I’ll be your wife.”
Delight spread across Cameron’s face. “Fantastic, I knew you’d come around, Dani. We’ve got to tell Silverman right away. He wants us to have a huge wedding. The studio will foot the bill, and then—”
“Absolutely not,” Danielle interjected. She set her jaw. “If we’re going to do this, let’s do it quickly. The Justice of Peace is fine with me.”
* * *
Jon tapped the pilot on the shoulder. “How much longer?” he yelled above the din of the small twin engine airplane.
The pilot turned around, her short brown fringe sticking out from under her leather flight cap. “Two or three hours,” she hollered. She pointed to a panoramic carved canyon below. “That’s the Grand Canyon, a real beauty, aye? Used to fly this route for Hughes Aircraft.”
“Glad you know the area,” he shouted. Jon had met the gutsy young flyer in Canada, where she was a member of the Women’s Royal Air Force, or WRAF. He’d convinced her to fly him to Los Angeles during her leave time in her personal aircraft.
Jon gazed out beyond white fluffy clouds into the endless blue sky. On a whim during leave he’d hopped a Royal Air Force flight from England to Canada, ostensibly to inspect Newell-Grey ships docked in the Long Beach harbor of the Los Angeles basin.
He remembered Libby’s advice about Danielle. She’d been right on target about his feelings for her. Though England was at war, he’d realized there might never be a better time for them. He needed her now. Tomorrow might never come.
After he’d spoken to Danielle on the telephone, a sense of urgency had rushed through him. The moment he’d heard her voice, he knew what he had to do. Now, if only he could talk Danielle into it. He’d understand if she preferred to stay in Los Angeles, out of harm’s way with the girls and her mother. All he knew was that he loved her, as he’d never loved Victoria. He tapped the pilot on the shoulder again. “Can’t this crate fly any faster?”
* * *
“Stop here, please,” Jon told the taxicab driver.
The cabby turned and raised a bushy brow. “You sure?”
Jon pulled Danielle’s last letter from his shirt pocket. He checked the return address, then glanced out the window. The apartment building across the street sported a crooked porch, peeling paint, and a rocky lawn where grass had been ground under foot. “The Bradley Arms, this is it.” He paid the cabby, stepped from the car and caught his breath. There, across the street, was Danielle, turning into the Bradley Arms building and starting up the steps.
Looking to the right, he started across the street. From behind him, a horn blasted, and an old car swerved to avoid him. With a nervous grin, Jon held up his hand. He’d forgotten the Yanks drove on the wrong side of the road.
Jon sprinted across the street, and hesitated at the curb. There she is! He felt his heart beat wildly. Danielle stood on the landing, shifting a package from one hand to the other to open the front door. He rubbed the back of his neck as he watched her, considering his words. What would he say? What would she say?
He held his breath. She looked beautiful in a fitted black suit that emphasized her narrow waist, skirted her slim hips, and revealed her long shapely legs. Her hair shone like burnished copper in the California sun. She wore it loose, and it skimmed her shoulders like a veil of heavy silk. How he ached to run his fingers through that hair, to touch her face, her lips, her throat, her thighs...he had to make love to her, or he felt he would burst.
He swallowed hard. The door was closing behind her. He strode across the sidewalk, climbed the front steps, and placed his hand on the grimy brass knob where her hand had been a moment ago; it seemed magnetized by her touch.
He peered inside, inhaling the sweet trail of her perfume. She was walking up to the second floor, her hips swaying deliciously. He blinked in the dim light, cleared his throat, and found his voice. “Danielle!”
She froze at the top of the stair, then whirled around. “Who is it?” A blaze of recognition illuminated her face. “Jon!” Her package tumbled to the floor and she gripped the rickety banister.
Danielle couldn’t believe her eyes. Mon Dieu! What is he doing here? At the sight of him, excitement coursed through her veins, and she felt her limbs tingle with sheer happiness.
Jon raced up the threadbare stairs two at a time, paused for a split second, then caught her in his arms, burying his face in her silken hair, reveling in her sensual aroma. He loved her perfume, and the scent of warm skin that was her; it was like a magical fog that he disappeared into. She threw her arms around his neck and pressed her soft face to his, her excited breath warm on his cheek. He cradled her face in his hands, and saw joy evident in her smile.
“I must be dreaming,” she murmured, clinging to him, wanting him, feeling herself respond to his t
ouch, their bodies melding together in natural unison. “I can’t believe it’s you.”
And then a thought struck her, mais non, no, no, no!
“In the flesh.” He tightened his grip and a warm glow spread through his body, his torso, his groin. “I told you on the telephone that I had to see you,” he said, his voice hoarse from the airplane flight. And then, he felt her arms go limp around his neck and her shoulders droop against his chest.
She pulled away slightly, her eyes downcast. As the full force of her feeling rushed through her, she realized her mistake. Oh, what have I done?
“Danielle?” With two fingers, he lifted her chin. Her lashes were like feathers against her smooth skin. Heat burned within him, his blood pounded in his ears. Closing his eyes, he hungrily pressed his mouth to hers.
Again, she started to pull away, but he held her to him, caressing her back, her hair, her face. Slowly, her hesitation dissolved. She sank into his embrace as their kiss deepened. When Jon finally released her, he noticed her cheeks were damp with tears.
She rested her head against his chest. She knew she had to tell him, but she just wanted to hold this precious, incredible feeling forever, to sear it into her memory. After a long moment, regretfully, she found her voice. “Jon, why have you come?”
Her voice sounded strangely weak. He drew a deep breath. “I’ve missed you so much, Danielle.” He heard her breath catch. “I have only a few days here, but I, I thought....”
“I didn’t hear you say that, Jon,” she said softly. “The line went dead.” Danielle raised her shimmering brilliant green eyes to him. A sad expression stole across her face and Jon’s stomach lurched. “What did you think, Jon? What?”
“It’s what I know, Danielle.” He glanced around the dingy hallway, and guilt besieged him. Why hadn’t Abigail told him about Danielle’s circumstances? He kissed her again, softly this time. “I love you, Danielle. I don’t want to wait until the war is over to sort out our situation.” He smiled down at her. “Come back to London with me, marry me, let me take care of you. Or stay in Los Angeles, you’ll be safer here, I realize.” He glanced over her shoulder at their surroundings. “But you don’t belong here.”