Born of Deception (16 page)

The kind of girl who doesn’t know what she wants, clearly.

I realize he’s waiting for an answer, but I’m not sure what to say.

“I’m sorry. I forgot I had an appointment with him,” is all I can think of.

“An appointment or a date?”

“We were meeting friends for supper.”

Billy is silent for a moment, then says, “Anna . . . don’t you know . . .” His voice is low, urgent, and I brace myself. Longing is coming off him in waves.

“Anna, Louie wants me to tell you he needs to talk to you before we check into the hotel.”

I glance up at Jeanne, grateful for the interruption. Whatever Billy had to say, it was sure to muddle things even further.

I turn back to the window. “Oh, look! Paris!”

Everyone is distracted as we chug into the City of Light. Whatever it was Billy wanted to tell me, the moment has passed.

As excited as I am to see Paris, I’m relieved when the train rolls into Gare du Nord. There’s the usual flurry of activity as we disembark, but we’re getting better at it now. I immediately head back to the baggage car to watch my magic props being unloaded. The last thing I want is my iron maiden to be shattered because of some careless railway worker. I extract a franc from my pocketbook and tip the porter, indicating my things. He nods, a wide smile on his face. Some call it bribery; I prefer to think of it as insurance money well spent.

As I place my pocketbook into my handbag, my hand brushes against something cold and I pull out the medallion. It had completely slipped my mind and I resolve to try to steal some time in Paris to find out what the symbols on the back mean.

I spot Louie, yelling orders and waving his arms around, his ever-present cigar bobbing in his mouth. Once I collect my suitcases, I lug them over to him and wait for him to finish yelling at one of the stagehands.

“You wanted to talk to me?” I ask once I can get a word in.

He nods. “Yeah, doll. I wanted to let you know I changed the lineup. You’ve got the top spot. Don’t let me down.”

I stand on the platform, with all the noise of one of the busiest train stations in the world, and everything fades as Louie’s words sink in. “But why? How?” I know my shows have been successful, but I’m green compared to some of the other members.

He shrugs. “I admit, I was pretty skeptical when Martin Beck insisted I take you on. But then I watched you perform and thought to myself, Self, she’s a pretty good little magician and she has that magic—no pun intended—thing that top performers have. And she’s pretty to boot. So I took you on. You’ve been nothing but professional and haven’t given me a moment’s worry, unlike some of them.” He glares over at Jeanne, who is collecting her things, then continues. “Turns out, Mr. Beck and one of his friends were at the Budapest show and were quite impressed with you. They met me in London and while I was discussing the Jeanne situation with them, his friend suggested I put you in the top spot. Seemed real interested in your career. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m in charge of the show, but I was thinking about giving you top billing anyway. Now guess who that friend was?”

I shake my head, baffled. Why would a friend of Mr. Beck be so interested in me?

“None other than Harry Houdini himself, missy. You could have knocked me over with a feather when he showed up.”

My skin goes cold and hot all at the same time. Harry Houdini was in London? He came to Budapest to watch my first performance? Louie’s shrewd eyes are watching me closely, so I swallow and give him a wan smile. “I’m incredibly flattered and honored. I won’t let you down.”

I don’t mention Houdini because I don’t know what to say. That he may or may not be my father? Either Louie has heard the rumors or not. I learned a long time ago that mentioning the gossip simply lends it validity.

“See that you don’t.” He turns away, his quick mind already leaping to one of the many problems he faces every time the troupe travels.

Jeanne saunters up to me, her movements languid and somehow triumphant. She’s looking especially beautiful today, her white skin glowing almost translucent and her short red hair a sleek punctuation mark. “Did Louie share the good news?”

I nodded. “I can’t believe he’s giving me top billing.”

Her laugh rings out, pure and vivacious, and people stop what they’re doing to watch her for a moment. “Not that good news, silly. Our good news!”

I must look confused because she laughs again. “We’re going to have a baby!” Her eyes gleam with happiness and for a moment I’m envious. What must it be like to be so sure of something? I’m hopelessly in love with one young man and attracted to another one.

“Congratulations,” I tell her. She looks like a woman who has everything she has ever wanted.

The entertainers take cars to the hotel while the stagehands will follow our props to the theater before getting to do anything else. We’ll have a dress rehearsal this evening and will open tomorrow night. Even though our schedule for the next four days is grueling—we’ll be doing three shows a day—I’m determined to sneak off to a library at some point to find out what the symbols on the medallion are. If only to make up for the fact that I may have had an important clue sitting in my purse for the last couple of days and neglected to tell anyone about it.

But I also have to be in good form for my performances. I’ll be the top bill unless I can’t cut it. Louie would have no qualms about bumping me back down the roster—Houdini or no Houdini.

My mother and Jacques are waiting for me when we get to the hotel even though it’s several hours before the dress rehearsal. “I hope you’re not angry that I came so early, darling,” she says after kissing me on the cheek. “I wanted to show you the apartment. It’s just off the Champs-Élysées. I’m sure Louie won’t mind.” She glances up at my boss, who came up behind me with Jeanne.

He waves his hand. “Go ahead. Just be back in time for a quick run-through.”

Mother helps me unpack and freshen up while Jacques stays downstairs and talks business with Louie. “You’re going to love the apartment, darling. It’s quite large, with floor-to-ceiling windows, parquet floors, and quite the modern kitchen.”

I smile, wondering why Mother would need a modern kitchen. She rarely stepped foot in any kitchens we ever had.

Jacques kisses my cheeks, very European, and calls for a taxicab in front of the hotel. He speaks to the driver in rapid French and soon we are on our way. It’s strange seeing him in his own country. His accent always made him a bit too much of a dandy for my taste, but he seems almost masterful here.

I stare out the window, my eyes wide as Paris unfolds around me. Both brash and bossy New York and staid and self-important London are overtly masculine in how they feel. Paris, on the other hand, is blatantly feminine. Everything, from the soft gray of the buildings to the ornate architecture to the blooming daffodils and the budding trees gives the impression of a young girl in love with herself.

“Isn’t the building beautiful?” Mother asks, excitement lacing her voice. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her sound so girlish and lighthearted. I get out of the car and gaze upward, my heart giving a little leap. The building stands about seven stories tall and the facade is made of white stone. Each tall, slender window has a Juliet balcony of curling black wrought iron.

“It’s lovely,” I breathe.

“Come see!” She snatches up my hand and races into the building while Jacques pays the driver. A doorman opens the door for us and tips his hat. “Can you imagine?” she whispers. “A doorman!”

Her dark eyes are shining and for the second time in a day, I find myself envious of someone’s happiness. I tamp it down as Jacques joins us in the foyer and we climb the stairs to the fourth floor.

When we arrive at the door, my mother, always a performer, makes me close my eyes. I smile at her enthusiasm. There’s nothing of the sophisticate about her today. This is a woman whose dreams have come true. She leads me in. “You can open your eyes now!”

I open my eyes and gasp. There are six windows along a narrow living area that look out on Paris and the river. The shining wood floors are dotted with white sheepskin rugs, matching the white furniture that seems to be all ovals and cubes. Plain black tables finish out the room and the only decorations on the wall are three large oval mirrors that reflect the Paris light from the windows.

The apartment is delightfully fresh and modern and the sky is so blue with the clouds scudding across it that I get the illusion that I’m floating above the city. “It’s beautiful,” I tell my mother and Jacques. “Absolutely extraordinary.”

Jacques rocks back and forth on his feet, pleased with himself. “I had my solicitor looking for us and though he found several, I knew immediately, this was the apartment for my new family.”

I raise my eyes to his, a lump forming in my throat. Even after our rocky start, he considers me family. Overcome, I hug him and then my mother. Mother shows me the rest of the apartment, pride of ownership apparent in her every movement. From the black-and-white tiles in the kitchen and the bathroom to the crystal chandelier in the small dining area, the apartment is a home that finally fits my mother’s perception of herself. Though I will probably always love our New York apartment best, as it was my first real home, I can see my mother being very happy here. The small empty corner bedroom is mine, I’m told, to do with what I will.

“I was hoping you could come and decorate it,” my mother says. “Once the tour has ended,” she adds hastily, seeing my face.

“That would be nice.” It’s the truth. The temptation of what mother told me in England hits for the first time. To live in this apartment, to be taken care of instead of taking care of Mother and myself, is alluring.

But didn’t I already make that decision?
I wonder as we head back to the hotel. In New York, I decided that I wanted to perform my magic more than anything else in the world. I glance at my mother and see the changes Jacques has brought her. There are the obvious physical changes of a spoiled and pampered woman, but there are less obvious changes as well. A fullness about the lips, a softness in her eyes, and a relaxation of her erect carriage, changes brought about by someone who is in love and loved in return. Living with this new mother might not be so bad. But then I remember how she handled Cole and Calypso at lunch. She’s not so different. Almost eighteen years with my mother has taught me she has as many colors as a chameleon. I would love to trust this kinder, gentler mother, but I know better and I’m not sure I want to give up my independence to be taken care of, no matter how tempting it might be. I glance at my wristwatch.

“Do you know where a library or a bookstore is?” I ask.

My mother’s painted eyebrows shoot up on her forehead. “You always were a reader. Do you need a book for the train back to London?”

I shake my head. She and Jacques wait, and reluctantly, I show them the medallion. “A friend gave this to me,” I lie. “I want to find out what it means.”

My mother turns it over in her hand, frowning. “It looks very old.”

Jacques peers at it. “
Oui
. I know just the place. The Sainte-Geneviève Library inherited the entire collection of one of the oldest abbeys in Paris. Some of the documents date from the sixth century. The librarians there are some of the most learned men in France. I’m sure that you will be able to find one who is bilingual who would be able to point you in the right direction.” He sniffs in subtle disapproval that neither my mother nor I speak French, though I know it won’t take my mother long to pick it up. “I can arrange for the motorcar to pick you up in the morning before your first show. Would that be acceptable?”

“That would be perfect, thank you.” I try not to get my hopes up. For all I know, someone accidentally dropped it outside my door and it has absolutely nothing to do with Pratik’s murder or the poppet.

But I don’t really believe that.

We drop Jacques off at his solicitor’s office so he can fill out some paperwork on the apartment before heading back to the theater. When my mother stops the car to walk the last few blocks to my hotel, I think she is going to scold me for something. I’m always suspicious when she makes a point to speak to me alone. Instead, she once again surprises me.

“Are you happy?”

Startled, I glance sideways at her but she isn’t looking at me. Am I happy? I think of the Society that I thought would bring me a sense of peace about my abilities but instead has only created havoc in my life. I think of Cole, who I love so much, but who struggles to express his feelings in return, and I wonder if I can live with the changes his presence might make to my abilities. I think of the tour, which is exhausting but ultimately satisfying, and which brought me Billy, who has turned into such a wonderful friend and whose presence brings me a levity my life has always lacked. My mother is waiting for an answer, but I am not even sure what to tell her, because I don’t know. Finally I say, “I think I am. What is happiness anyway?”

She is silent for a moment, then says, “I used to wonder the same thing. Oh, I had moments of happiness, especially with you.”

My eyes widen. It’s the closest to an admission of love that I’ve ever heard from her.

“Oh, you didn’t think me capable?” She laughs. “Trust me, I doubted it myself. But Jacques has brought me happiness, which for me will always mean security. I have the security of a good man who loves me, work I find interesting, and enough money that I don’t have to worry about my daughter or myself ever going without again.”

I’m speechless. My mother has never been one for introspection, nor has she ever been so forthright.

She continues, “You know what I want. I want you to stop touring and live with Jacques and me until you find what happiness means to you.” I try to speak, but she raises a hand. “I know, I know, you think you’re doing what makes you happy, but I’m having a difficult time believing that the girl who always begged me to stay in one place will be truly happy being on the road nine to ten months out of the year.”

As much as I hate to admit it, she has a point. “I’ll think about it,” I promise. “I can’t leave the tour midway, but I will think about what you said and let you know before it’s time to return to the States.”