by Linda Swain
He wasn’t about to admit or deny how closely the woman’s words resembled the truth, but he couldn’t stop the flash of anger that flared in his eyes. “Do we have a deal or not?”
Abruptly, his veneer of charm had vanished, and the hard, snarling face that remained in its absence sent a cold chill down Elise’s back. This man, he is as lethal as Ashton Montserrat ever was – or possibly more so … Draining her coffee, she set the cup down quickly before Nick could see how badly her hands shook. “I … what you want to know … Yes …” To calm herself, she took a deep breath, and began. “The birth, it was not an easy one. The child was breech, and even with two doctors in attendance, there was a possibility that neither mother nor child would live. And when asked to choose, Madam said she heard Montserrat chose the child.”
“Look, I don’t give a rat’s ass about any of that,” Nick snapped impatiently. “Tell me how she died.”
Again, there was a tone in is voice that warned Elise not to embellish on the truth. For a moment, she wished for more coffee.
Or some wine. Lots of good French wine. She sucked in another slow breath. “That day, Madam Montserrat had been in a great deal of pain, and on doctor’s orders, I gave her the usual amount of pain medication. It should have put her into a deep sleep.”
“And what happened next?” Nick asked through gritted teeth. Will this dame never get to the point?
“While the doctor and Montserrat were discussing the health of that poor infant, I left Madam long enough to use the facilities. When I returned, she was lying on the floor. I will never forget the blank stare in those eyes of hers. Eyes that I personally closed for the last time.” She spread her hands wide, her voice trembling with emotion. “I was innocent of her death! I gave her exactly the dosage that I had been instructed to give her and stepped away for no more than two minutes – and that is all.”
“Look, I’m sure that you were innocent, and that it was all an accident. That’s not what I’m looking for, here.” But if the dame was drugged up in her bed, how’d she die on the floor? Did Ashton step in while the nurse was out? An image of the bruises on Kat’s skin jumped into his mind, and Nick’s eyes narrowed. “Did Ashton ever . . .” He paused.
I’ve got to use a different tack. If I come right out and say what I’m thinking, who knows what’ll happen? “How long were you employed in their service? Did you see problems between them? Did they have many disagreements?”
“I was hired the summer of ’33 to oversee the comfort of Madam during the night. She had her own suite because of her delicate condition. I slept on a cot in the sitting room once it became obvious that she was going to have a difficult time throughout the pregnancy.”
With admirable restraint, Nick offered more coffee, waiting for her to continue. He didn’t care if Ash was sleeping with his wife or not; all of this was pointless as far as he was concerned, but he forced himself to continue listening. “Yes, go on.” Pausing for a moment to light a cigarette, the resulting blue haze of smoke that drifted upwards a moment later concealed the growing agitation in Nick’s eyes.
She shrugged as she sipped the fresh brew. “Madam and he had very volatile tempers. There were many confrontations, and most of them surrounded something that she desired. Something he refused to give her. I do not know what it was, but he was adamant that Madam not have it while she carried the child.” She smiled tightly. “So in return, she denied him the comfort of her bed.”
“Gotcha,” Nick interrupted before she could continue. Loosening his tie, he could feel his nerves beginning to fray. “Now, while you were employed, did you ever see any sign of . . . did he ever strike her?”
Elise paused. She could be coy here, she supposed; she could evade his question, but there was something in the man’s eyes that warned her that the truth would be best told without embellishment.
“He raised his hand to her once or twice that I witnessed, but never actually struck her. But,” she added hurriedly as she saw Nick’s expression and the possibility of even more money slipping through her fingers, “a few times, I heard what could have been a slap, and occasionally there were strange marks on Madam’s skin. When I brought these to his attention, he chastised me for my unavailability and he had to help her unassisted. He warned me that if such an occasion should arise again, that I would be terminated.”
“Was there ever any more odd marks on her?” Nick asked the question but he knew that he had as much information as he was going to get. Anything else would now simply be fodder to elaborate the story for whatever the woman could get. Silently, he signaled for the waiter and the check.
Elise shook her head, a hint of desperation in her tinny voice. “Not that I ever saw, but Madame did not want him near her in the last months. She said that she felt ugly and resented him for insisting that she have to endure the ordeal.”
Nodding, Nick tossed down another wad of cash. “That’s yours. Thanks for your help.” Tossing down enough to cover the bill, he inclined his head towards Elise. Then he was gone, vanishing into the crush of mid-day traffic outside the restaurant.
Thoughtfully, Elise spent a moment stirring her soup, her eyes fixed on the money still on the table before it vanished into a safe, dark place inside her amply filled brassiere, to rest with the earlier stash of money she had been given.
Well, perhaps it won’t be enough to take away the sting and humiliation of those dark days after Madam’s death, but it is enough for me to begin again, she reflected as she sipped the last of her soup, tucking away inside her handbag the remainder of the baguette. Isn’t that what everyone desires? Un bonne chance – a chance to start anew, to learn from the mistakes of the past and hope never to repeat them again?
Glancing up as Nick strode through the doors of the club just a hair after two, Tim watched his boss stealthily as he wiped down the bar. He worked in silence for a few minutes, waiting for Nick to come to him. If asked why he didn’t inquire about the outcome of the errand on which the boss had gone some two hours before, Tim might have said he was merely keeping his nose out of other people’s business, and to some extent, that would have been true. But the unspoken credo of the street life had certain rules. Just as Nick hadn’t asked where Tim had found the nurse’s location for him, Tim wouldn’t ask whether Nick had followed, or gained from, the tips he had been given. Not unless, or until, Nick spoke to him about it would he say anything about the matter at all.
“Hey.” Nick had settled into his spot behind the bar and had poured himself a Scotch. Tim watched as he drained first one and then another, waiting until he’d set his glass down before moving in his direction.
“Yeah, boss?”
“I want to know more about this nurse. Find out more about the sentence hanging over her head especially, but I want anything you can get on her. You need cash?”
Tim awarded him a withering look and held out his hand. “You think my sources like me because I’m a looker?”
Nick laughed, but it was a rough and humorless sound. “I don’t know anything about your sources or what they like, and I like it that way.” He withdrew a fold of bills and pressed them into Tim’s waiting fingers without looking at the amount. “Keep the rest of it.”
Tim smiled faintly. “Gee, thanks, Boss – I didn’t know Christmas had come early.”
“Christmas in July and I’m Santy Claus,” Nick replied sourly. “I’ll be in my office.”
Tim watched as Nick turned on his heel and slipped into the inner sanctum of the club, a place where none of the others who worked Simply Blues were really allowed to go.
Except Kat, Tim thought with a heavy sigh. She used to go over his ledgers with him in there. I used to hear them laughing sometimes. And … probably fooling around, too. His cheeks flushed slightly. Well, hell, they were both adults. But Kat was always in there. He never had time to brood in there like he does now.
It hadn’t been all good times within the office; Tim had heard them arguing, too, he remembered
with a wince. Especially towards the end.
Watching as the door clicked shut with a sharp finality that made him jump, he wondered what had passed between Nick and the nurse. Well, once I get the skinny from Pierre on Elise … I’m sure he knows more than he told me the other night … I’ll snag the boss and make him tell me, rules or no rules. But I can already see by his face that I’m not gonna like what I’m gonna hear … I’m beginning to wish I’d eighty-sixed that smooth talking chump way back when we first noticed him. He blew his hair out of his eyes and forced a smile as Ted and Madeline wandered through the front door to begin rehearsing for that night’s set. But I won’t get rich off wishing, so I might as well take the long way home tonight.
“So the nurse was a patsy, huh?” Tim leaned back against an alleyway wall in the very early hours of the following morning, dragging deeply on his cigarette and watching the curiously long length of Pierre as the man’s shadow flickered over the dirty wall.
“Peut-etre,” Pierre replied, exhaling a flume of bluish smoke from between his cracked lips. “Maybe yes. Maybe no. From the circumstances described, the answer seems to be obvious to me. If you want my personal opinion …”
Tim shook his head. “Nope – I don’t pay for opinions. Just facts. Up until the nurse was pinned, what were her references? What’d Ashton have to say about her?”
Once more, Pierre spread his filthy hands. “Elise is a most dependable woman, but her shoulders are bent with care. None of her former employers who referred her to Ashton ever seemed to have a problem with her. Her conviction was the first of any black mark on her record. She is not like you and I, with our … how you say, questionable connections. Even here, in this community, she is seen as an excellent nurse. She enjoys helping people.” He lifted one shoulder slightly in a faint shrug. “So. I will give you my opinion, Timothy, for free.” Pierre raised his hands to forestall any protests from Tim. “Simply keep in mind that it is my opinion, and nothing more. I know Elise. Some would say I know her quite … intimately.” His lips spread in a nearly toothless grin.
Tim forced away a shudder at the meaning implied within the Frenchman’s words, and took a steadying drag on his cigarette. “I didn’t come here to hear about your love life. Get to the point.”
“Americans,” Pierre sighed. “Always so impatient. My point, Timothy, is that I know Elise. I will vouchsafe her fine character for you, if you wish. I also know of Ashton Montserrat, and, once upon a time, may even have walked those same circles. But that is another story for another time. But, please, let me ask you a question. Your employer, he would stop at nothing to get what he wants, non?”
“Within reason,” Tim answered cautiously. “He doesn’t hurt people if he doesn’t have to, but he’s a pretty determined fella. Why? What’s Nick got to do with this?”
Pierre’s few remaining teeth caught the emerging light of morning as he smiled, but there was no joy in his craggy face. His features were those of a man who had seen everything he had loved taken away from him, and who had been forced to see others walk, in his place, the path he had once considered his own. “Ashton Montserrat is very much like your Nicholas, I think,” he murmured softly. “The difference between them is that Ashton does not mind who he hurts in the process, as long as matters turn out in his favor at the end.”
Chapter Twelve
The days had come and gone, taking with them the bright summer sun and the stifling heat, dragging all of the warmth from the air and depositing it inside the house, where fireplaces flared and kitchens bustled with families as they prepared for the coming seasons and the holidays that were fast approaching.
Kat came whirling in the house with a tumble of bright orange leaves in her wake, her cheeks pink with the chill in the air, her eyes bright with laughter. “Ash,” she called out, nodding to the butler who appeared smartly forward to take her coat before lifting from her arms the gaily-colored packages. “Thank you, Giles,” she replied as she caught her breath. Turning in a circle, she looked again for her husband.
“Bien sûr, Madam,” Giles replied quietly. “Should I take these to Madam’s room?”
“No,” she answered firmly. “Madam can do that herself, thank you, Giles. I wish to show my husband something. Do you happen to know his whereabouts?”
“The Comte is in with his son, Madam,” Giles answered blandly.
Clapping her hands, Kat retrieved the bags from the arms of the confused butler. “That is perfect, thank you. That will be all.”
She moved quickly, despite her increasing girth and being laden with her purchases. When Ashton met her at the door to Anton’s room, his brow creased with a frown. “Why are you holding all of this? Where is Giles? It is his job to carry anything for you. You are too far along to be doing such things, Katherine. You could harm yourself or the baby.”
She is so very full of life, Ashton thought. Her energy is boundless – by the time Christine had reached her fifth month, she would not so much as lift a comb for herself. How different they are. How wonderfully, completely different. Removing the packages, he neatly placed them in his arms.
Privately, she thought that he looked a bit ridiculous as a porter, but she wisely kept her thoughts to herself. “The baby and I are just fine Ash, so please quit worrying so much,” she scolded, retrieving one of the lighter package. “I wanted to show you something I bought for Halloween.”
“Halloween,” he repeated blankly.
“Yes, Halloween,” she replied, but further explanation was cut short by Anton’s voice calling out.
“Maman!” he shouted joyfully. “You are home! Papa said that you would be home soon, and he is always right!”
Kat cast a look at Ashton, who smiled faintly when she shook her head and moved over to the wheel-chair bound boy. “Yes, he is right about a lot of things, isn’t he, little one?” Carefully she leaned over and tickled Anton gently, pleased when she noticed that it was no longer possible to count his ribs. He has come so far, she thought, pleased. He’s growing so big and strong. “I have a surprise for you.”
“What about me?” Ashton asked, “Or has your heart been completely stolen by my son?” He had meant the words in jest, but even he could hear the sting within them. Smiling, he hoped that Katherine had not noticed the bitterness in his words. When she turned to give him a blinding smile, Ash again marveled at the love she had shown for a child not her own.
“Oh, he’s stolen a bit of it,” she replied lightly before returning to Ash, placing a light kiss on his cheek. “Later I will show you how very much that my heart still – and always will – belong to you.”
“I sincerely hope so,” Ash growled, a smoky look glazing over his odd green eyes. “I’ve missed my wife.”
“Presents for us, Maman?” Anton interrupted, trying to maneuver around her. “It is not yet Noël, and my birthday has passed. And it is not Papa’s until springtime.”
Laughing at the curiosity in Anton’s eyes, Kat explained. “Sometimes, people buy gifts just because they were thinking of someone. I’ve a costume for you, for Halloween.”
“A costume?” Ash asked cautiously.
At the same time, his eyes as wide as they could possibly be, Anton began rattling a series of questions. “What is Halloween? What costume do you have for me? Why do people where costumes, Maman?”
She paused, fixing Ash with a gaze that was filled with disbelief. “Anton doesn’t know anything about Halloween either? I can forgive you . . . you’re French . . .”
“As is he,” Ashton pointed out. “He is as French as you are American.”
She eyed him for a moment, debating if he was attempting to insult her before deciding to carry on. “But he is living here . . . he should at least become accustomed to the traditions of his adopted country. I already have his costume. You’ll have to have one made for you, and I’ll have to think about something to wear.”
Ash interrupted her with a raised hand, noticing how his son was following every wo
rd of the conversation. The young boy could sense that there was something special about to happen, but he didn’t know what. “My darling,” Ash began slowly, “you are in far too delicate a condition for a full dress fête . . . I cannot permit it.”
“I know my limits!” Stroking his face, she was absurdly touched by his concern. “I’m not thinking of a formal party. Besides, this one is for Anton.”
“One for me?” Anton’s voice rose in excitement as he sat up further in his chair.
“Now that’s . . . no, that would be too much . . .” Ash began to protest as Kat raised her hand.
“Will you please let me finish before you start yet another argument? I’m thinking of a small party. Just with the staff and their . . .” She paused, a bemused look on her face. “Ashton, do you know what a snob you can be? I think it would be a nice gesture, and if everyone is involved, I won’t have to do anything but supervise.” She smiled broadly, knowing her point had struck home. “Most of our staff have children, so Anton would be around children his own age.” She smiled, delighted to see the growing comprehension on Ash’s face. “I know that Anton can’t have too much excitement so it would only be for an hour or two, but we could all dress up . . . And we’ll have a traditional American holiday. There could be games and plenty of finger food for the children and we’ll still be able to tuck Anton in bed at his usual time.”
“As we should be doing now,” Ashton reminded them both, his eyes flickering down to his son. Reaching out to stroke the riot of his son’s chestnut colored hair, he couldn’t help smiling at the hopeful light in his eyes.