by Jan Moran
“That was no performance, Harry. I was prepared to go to jail.”
“Why do you protect him so? Just look at yourself,” he sputtered, anger rising in his voice. “I can’t believe you still love him.”
Danielle raised her face to him, her resolve strengthening. “You’re absolutely right, Harry. I don’t love him.” Never did, she thought, wincing at the truth.
“Damn it, Danielle. You’re an intelligent woman, beautiful and talented. I don’t understand, what is this desire you have to hang onto Cameron Murphy?”
Danielle measured her words. “I owe him, Harry. And now, he owes me, too.”
“You owe him? By God, Danielle, the man would probably be dead if weren’t for you.”
Abruptly, she stopped beside Harry’s car, whirled to face him. “I’ll be damned if I’ll let Cameron Murphy force me into bankruptcy. I need him for one more album, then we’ll be even.”
Harry said nothing for a moment, then nodded slowly. “I see,” he said quietly. “You’re a smart one, Danielle. Got to hand it to you.” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “You must be exhausted. Come back to my house, let me take care of you.”
“Dear Harry.” Danielle hesitated for a moment as she looked into Harry’s eyes. “You’re really too good to me, Harry.”
“You have no idea how good I could be for you, Danielle,” he murmured, his breath warm on her neck as he folded her into his arms.
She relaxed in the safety of his embrace, anxiety flooding from her being. She always knew she could count on Harry. She closed her eyes and rested her swollen cheek against his chest.
She was so relieved that Cameron would receive treatment. His confinement would probably be lengthy, but she had already decided that she would divorce him upon his release. Once Cameron recovered, she would tell him.
Harry’s heart thundered in her ears. She knew his commitment, his devotion. She’d sensed Cameron was wrong for her from the beginning, but he’d rescued her family from years of struggle. And then there’s Jon. Am I crazy to maintain our friendship?
She sighed. And am I a fool to turn my back on a fine man like Harry Nelson?
29
“Merci, Danielle,” the young woman said with a smile as Danielle placed an armload of fragrant white lilies next to the blush pink roses she had already chosen. “You always chose my best flowers.”
Danielle winked at her friend, the owner of the Flower Pot in Beverly Hills. “And you always have the best flowers in town, Mimi. Especially this spring.”
“Mais oui! It’s a good season. Are these for a special occasion or party?”
“These are just for me. You know I can’t resist walking past your beautiful flowers.” Danielle buried her nose in the bouquet of roses that Mimi had already wrapped in newspaper. “I feel so much better when my home is full of flowers. Their perfume always lifts my spirits.”
“Mine, too. That reminds me, my brother just sent some potted gardenias from the farm. They’re full of buds and would be perfect for the windows in your boudoir. Did you see them? They’re in the front of the shop.”
“I’ll take a look.” Danielle meandered through a brilliant maze of cut flowers, charming topiaries, and magnificent floral arrangements. She loved the scents that swirled through the air, and they really did lift her spirits.
After she had committed Cameron to the sanitarium for his alcohol and drug addictions, she tried to banish the turmoil that had been in their home. Not only had his behavior affected her, but it had also disturbed Liliana, Jasmin, and Marie. Once he was gone, she had asked a friend, who was an interior designer, to make subtle changes throughout their home using an ancient Chinese design theory called feng shui, which they all found calming and healing. The sound of waterfalls and the aroma of flowers had helped restore balance and happiness to their home, and reminded her of her uncle’s flower fields in Grasse. Since then, Danielle managed to find time in her busy schedule to shop for fresh bouquets every week, and she felt better than she had in years.
She drank in the heady aromas wafting through the air, closing her eyes from time to time as she leaned into an exotic flower or plant to breathe in its scent. I could almost be in Grasse, she thought.
She loved her friend’s shop, in fact, she had helped Mimi and her brother start their business with a small investment. They were from the Provence region of France, and while Mimi ran the retail shop, her brother oversaw their farm in a valley north of Los Angeles where they grew the flowers and plants.
The shop was busy this Saturday morning in May, bustling with people in their casual weekend clothes enjoying the warm spring weather. Danielle folded up the long sleeves on her white cotton shirt, and as sunshine streamed through the front windows, she pulled her dark sunglasses from their casual perch atop her head, shielding her eyes against the bright glare. She spied the gardenias and made her way to them.
She rubbed the glossy green leaves, touched the moist earth in the pot, and let her fingers trail along a fresh white flower bursting from a tightly swirled bud. Instinctively, she sniffed her fingers.
Perhaps I’ll capture this aroma, she thought to herself, smiling. Cool greens combined with sweet gardenia, the moist earth, the warmth of the sun—it would be perfect for this season. Maybe a new line of garden-inspired perfumes—
“Danielle?”
She squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers still hovering beneath her nose. Am I hearing things? She heard someone call her name. And not just anyone, but it sounded just like— And that scent...the patchouli, the hint of rose...it was Spanish Leather and the scent of his warm skin...oh, mon Dieu! She felt a hand on her shoulder, and felt a shiver of remembrance course through her.
“Danielle.”
Slowly she swung around. The shop seemed to fall away, and she felt suspended in the moment. She pushed her sunglasses up on her head and blinked, staring at the handsome man who stood before her. “Jon?”
“It must be kismet.” A wondrous smile spread across his face. “I stopped to buy flowers for Abigail, and I thought I saw you through the window.” He ran his hand down her shoulder and caught her hand, drawing her to him, intensifying the delicious scent of him in her nose.
“I can’t believe it, what brings you here?” She felt her heart beating wildly, and was certain he could see it beneath her blouse.
“We have a ship going out on the Pacific from Long Beach. I didn’t have much notice, what with security and all. So I thought I’d surprise Abigail.”
Danielle laughed nervously. “Oh, you would have. But she’s not here. She’s in San Francisco with Lou. He has a film shooting on location there.”
He ran a hand through his thick hair, releasing a faint scent of the sea. “Ah, once again, I should have called ahead.”
He smiled wistfully at her, his warm eyes crinkling at the corners. She noticed his face was leaner than before, but his chest was broad, and he looked more muscular. He’s even more magnificent than I remembered.
“Then our meeting really is kismet,” he murmured. His voice sounded low and gentle, yet charged with emotion and strength. “You look so different, Danielle, you’ve bloomed, just like these flowers. How many years has it been since that day outside of your apartment?”
Danielle felt her face flush, and moistened her lips to speak, but at that moment, Mimi bustled toward them.
“Did you find the gardenias?” Mimi paused and tilted her head. “Ah, I see you’ve found a friend instead. Who is this?” she asked with a curious smile.
“Jon is an old friend, and Abigail’s brother.”
“I am so very pleased to meet you,” she said, her eyes darting between Danielle and Jon. “Danielle, I have your flowers ready. Did you want the gardenias, too?”
“Oh yes, of course. I’ll take two of these.”
“Let me help you,” Jon said. “Which ones do you want?”
Reining in her emotions, Danielle pointed to two lush plants, and Jon swept them up in his
arms. “What else do you have?”
Mimi gestured to the counter. “She has quite a few roses and lilies.” She glanced at Danielle and added, “How nice that you ran into Jon.”
“Yes, what luck,” Jon said with broad smile as they wound through the shop.
Danielle felt her pulse quicken, and yet, she marveled at how easily they fell into step together. It had been three, no, almost four years since they’d seen one another. Before Cameron, she thought with a jolt.
Jon paid for the flowers and scooped them into his arms. Laughing, Danielle said, “Here, I can manage the lilies.”
“How far do we have to go with these?”
“I’m parked in the back, follow me.” As he held the door for her, she glanced over her shoulder, and noticed his gaze lingering on her body, then he met her eyes.
“Nice flowers,” he said with grin.
She laughed nervously and shook her head. “I’m in the Delahaye.”
Jon walked to the car and let out a low whistle. “What a beauty—the car, too,” he added, looking appraisingly at Danielle.
“Jon, you’re being naughty. And I’m supposed to be mad at you.” She unlocked the doors.
“At me? Why?”
“Well, why shouldn’t I be? You show up again, with no notice at all.”
“Danielle, let’s not waste time on the past.” Taking the keys from her, he opened the trunk and placed the flowers inside. He drew a deep breath. “I didn’t call you, or anyone, because I didn’t know how much time I would have. As it is, I only have a few hours, and I don’t know when I’ll return.” A serious look shadowed his face for an instant. He took her hands in his. “But I’m here now, and it’s a beautiful day. May we enjoy it together?”
She smiled up at him. “Come with me to the house. My mother and the girls are visiting friends in San Diego. And you know where Cameron is. I wrote to you about that.”
He nodded. “Is he any better?”
“He’s taking this opportunity to work on new songs, and is looking forward to coming home soon.” She paused, then sighed deeply. That had been her standard answer to the press for months. Why should I lie to Jon? “Actually, he was released from the sanitarium to work on his new album, but after just a month, he had a horrible relapse and returned. But let’s not talk about Cameron.” She flipped her sunglasses back on her nose. “Want to drive?”
Although Danielle lived less than a mile from the Flower Pot, at her direction they took the long way home so that he could enjoy the fine, sleek automobile. Jon drove south and turned east on Wilshire Boulevard, enjoying the feel of the car at his command. He’d been so busy, there had been few moments to truly enjoy life, especially with a woman he found so fascinating. In truth, there had never been anyone like Danielle in his life, not even Victoria.
Danielle. This was not the woman he’d left in France, not the woman he’d last seen in Los Angeles. Had he thought she would remain unchanged after all she’d endured?
He remembered the young woman he’d met on the Atlantic crossing before the war in thirty-nine, the waif-like creature she had been, even when she was pregnant, with large, luminous eyes in her pale face. He recalled the last time he’d seen her in Los Angeles, right after she’d married Cameron. Could he really blame her for that? She’d been so emotionally scarred and painfully poor when she’d first arrived in Los Angeles; he knew that now, but he hadn’t realized the extent of her suffering at the time. Though they’d corresponded some through the years, and he’d followed her hard work and remarkable accomplishments, still, her new image had startled him when he first saw her in the flower shop. Even in her casual white shirt and cotton pants, she was clearly an independent woman in charge of her destiny. She was so... He paused, searching for words. So sophisticated, so self-assured.
Turning onto La Cienega, he glanced at Danielle, hardly believing that she actually sat beside him this glorious sunny day. She lifted her hand to smooth her auburn hair.
He smiled to himself. Her every movement transfixed him; she was graceful and refined. She’d become a woman. An elegant woman. He turned onto Sunset Boulevard and they wound through the neighborhood.
“So you approve of my choice of car?”
He laughed. “What’s not to love?” He really meant her, not the car, but she seemed a little nervous since he’d mentioned Cameron, so he added, “I’ve always thought this was one of the most gorgeous cars ever built. I met René Dreyfus, the auto racer, not long after he won the Million Franc race in thirty-eight in his Delahaye.” He laughed. “What a great victory over the Nazis that was.”
“Among others,” she said with a world-weary smile.
“Rumors are still swirling in Europe about Hitler’s demise,” Jon added with a grimace. “There were so many different accounts in the media these past couple of weeks, but it’s now been established that he did himself in.”
“Good riddance. Turn here,” she said, indicating her street. “And here we are.” He eased the car into the driveway of the large red-bricked Tudor-styled home, and turned off the ignition.
“I’m so glad to see you, Jon,” she said, touching his hand.
As he curled his fingers around hers, and felt her slim fingers respond, a rush of desire coursed through him. “I’m glad I ran into you. I’d thought about calling you, many times, actually.” He leaned into her and casually kissed her cheek, marveling at the softness of her skin, and the fresh, subtle perfume that wafted about her hair and neck. She seemed a little flustered by his action, so he pulled back, and said, “Let’s put those flowers in some water, shall we?”
He got out of the car, opened her door for her, then gathered the flowers from the trunk. She led him to the side entry and into the kitchen.
Jon glanced around, taking in the comfortable surroundings, photographs of Danielle and the girls, potted palms, and fresh oranges on the kitchen table. “What a lovely home you have, Danielle. I’m glad, you deserve it. But are you happy here?”
“I have so much to be thankful for.” Danielle picked up a pair of scissors and began snipping the flower stems. “My family is together, my business is thriving.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“I know what you meant.”
“We have just a few hours, Danielle.”
“I’m very aware of that.” Snip, snip. She tossed discarded leaves in the trash bin.
Jon watched her for a moment. She wore a pair of lean black cotton trousers and flat ballerina-style shoes. Her hair flowed around her shoulders, and her face was angled from him. “Are these the vases you’re using?”
She nodded.
“I’ll fill them with water.”
She nodded again.
“Danielle?” He touched her shoulder, and when she looked up at him, he could see that her brilliant green eyes glistened with tears, and it tore at his heart.
She brushed her eyes with her hand and waved him away. “I’m just being silly.”
“No, you’re not. Come here.” He wrapped his arms around her and felt her body slowly respond, relaxing into his. God, she feels so good.
“I should be happy, Jon. Except for Cameron, I really am, but I don’t have much time for myself anymore. This is a rare day....”
“You’re still a woman with feelings.” He tilted her chin up and looked into her eyes. “And I still have feelings for you, Danielle, I always have, from the first moment we met. I will never deny it, no matter what our circumstances might be. There was a time, right after Max died, when I should spoken up, told you how I felt, but I thought it was too soon for you. And then when I did...what a disaster. I’ve made so many mistakes with you.”
She laughed softy. “And now it’s too late for us. We’re both married.”
“It doesn’t change the way we feel about each other. I know what you don’t say in your letters. And I’ve always known that when I saw you again—”
“Shh,” she said, kissing him softly. Her lips were warm, her
kiss gentle, and he felt his resolve melt under her tender touch. Then she pulled away, her hand lingering on his face. “Let’s just enjoy the day,” she said, as he turned into her hand, kissing her palm. “I have a bottle of champagne in the refrigerator.”
“I’ll get it,” he said, and kissed her lightly before he released her.
“I’ll get the flutes from the bar.”
Danielle left the kitchen and made her way through the living room. Pausing, she leaned against the bar and drew a hand across her face. She knew what she felt for Jon, she knew what she wanted, but wanting didn’t make it so. And yet, if there was one lesson learned in the past few years, it was to seize the moment and whatever joy might come your way. What if Jon never returned from the Pacific? The war was still raging there. How would she feel if she never saw him again?
How would she feel if she did?
Her attorney had already drawn up her divorce papers. But Jon was still married. And Victoria had a baby. And I shouldn’t be thinking this way.
She chose two tall flutes from the glass shelves behind the bar and went back to the kitchen.
Jon had opened the champagne and he poured two glasses. “To us,” he said.
They drank to the toast, then Jon helped her fill the vases with lilies and roses. Together they placed the arrangements throughout the house, with Jon listening as Danielle told him about her girls’ accomplishments in school, and Marie’s fortunate recovery. They talked about Abigail’s work with orphans, and Jon’s parents, but when they spoke about their postwar plans, Danielle noticed that Jon was vague, so she didn’t ask him about Victoria. What’s the point? she thought.
They returned to the kitchen, and had another glass of champagne along with some fruit and cheese that Danielle prepared, but neither of them were very hungry. Jon wanted to know everything about the way she lived there, and how her business was going. “I want to show you something,” she said, taking his hand and leading him into a room at the rear of the house. As she opened the door he said, “Wow, what’s that incredible smell?”