PHANTOM IN TIME (35 page)
Authors: Eugenia Riley
“Xerox?”
“A
Xerox is a copy produced by a very advanced machine—it's something like a
photograph, but instant.”
He
shook his head and tapped a forefinger on the paper. “I still can't believe
this could be real.”
“It
is
real, Jacques, and you must believe me,” she retorted passionately. “I have
traveled through time to save you. But in order to do so, I must get you away
from the theater. Otherwise, you will be murdered next Tuesday, August 4
th
.”
Jacques
was silent, scowling at the article for a long, long moment.
“Do
you believe me?” Bella asked at last.
“I'm
tempted to,” he conceded.
“Then
you'll leave the opera?”
“No,
chérie.”
“But,
Jacques, you could die!”
He
shrugged a shoulder. “Any of us can die when the next epidemic sweeps through
our fair city. If it is my destiny to be murdered, then I cannot escape it. I
shall die happy, die singing.”
“Then
you're a hopeless fatalist?”
“No,
I am Creole.”
“You
are a fool!” she ranted, waving a hand. “For only a fool, knowing of his own
imminent murder, would simply wave a hand and say,
'Que sera, sera.'“
Tossing
aside the Xerox, Jacques hauled Bella close, roving a hand intimately over her
backside. “Let us stop arguing. I do not like this talk of travels through
time—it scares me for you, makes me fear I will lose you again, makes me fear
for your sanity, and my own. You have been away from me too long. I just want
to feel you are mine, for I have missed you terribly,
ma chère
.”
“Jacques!”
He
was already untying the dressing gown, his palms greedily stroking her breasts
and belly. “Come back to bed, Bella. We'll argue later . . .”
***
After
the rain stopped and a bracing coolness slid over the courtyard, they sat on
the balcony, Bella in Jacques's lap. She wore his dressing gown, he his trousers;
both sipped champagne from the same glass. From the lush foliage below them
drifted the sounds of frogs croaking and crickets sawing away; the air was
incredibly sweet, washed with rain.
“I
want us to marry,” he murmured.
Bella
bolted out of Jacques’s lap. At the balcony railing, she turned to regard the
scamp as he grinned at her. “Haven't you listened to anything I've said?”
“I've
listened,
chérie.”
She
gestured her frustration. “I'm from another time, Jacques. I could be snatched away
from you again at any moment. You could be murdered—”
“All
the more reason for us to make the most of the time we have.” He pinned her
with a determined look. “And you were whisked away after you abandoned our love
and your true destiny. I won't allow that to happen again.”
Bella
was staggered by Jacques's uncanny wisdom, which had an eerie resemblance to
Gran's. With a shiver, she admitted, “You know, someone else said those same
words to me recently.”
“Who?”
“My
grandmother back in the present.”
“Ah,
so that's where she is,” he murmured indulgently.
“Will
you be serious?”
He
fought a smile. “Perhaps in this instance I'll give credence to what she says.”
Bella
sighed heavily, her face reflecting her inner conflict. “Jacques, she's very
old, and her health is rapidly deteriorating.”
“I'm
sorry to hear that.”
“Then
you believe I have a grandmother?”
He
smiled faintly. “Yes, I believe you have a grandmother—somewhere. Probably not
in 1996, however.”
She
slanted him an exasperated glance. “I'll have you know the whole time I've been
here with you, I've been worried sick about her. I've felt torn between my
desire to help you and my longing to be with her during her final days.”
He
was silent for a moment, frowning at the champagne glass. When at last he spoke,
his words were once again heartfelt. “I believe you do have an ill grandmother
somewhere,
chérie
. And it's very sweet of you to give up some of her
last days for me.”
Bella
sniffled. “It helped to check on her the brief time I was back. But she could
be dying even now, while I'm stuck here a hundred years away.”
He
slowly shook his head. “You really believe you traveled through time, don't
you?”
“I
know I did. But you don't.”
He
regarded her earnestly. “I believe you are meant to be here—now—with me, and
that you've convinced yourself this traveling through time actually occurred.”
“You're
wrong.” She glanced toward the bedroom. “In fact—excuse me a moment.”
He
frowned. “Of course,
ma
chère.”
Bella
ducked back inside the bedroom and soon emerged with Gran's brooch, which she
handed to Jacques. “Here, read the inscription on the back.”
Jacques
scowled at the writing and read, “'To Bella, Love, Gran, July 3, 1996.'“ He
stared at her in awe. “My God, Bella!”
“Do
you believe me now?”
Appearing
perplexed, he handed the brooch back to her. “I just don't know. What you are
telling me defies logic. Give me some time to digest all of this.”
Frowning,
she pocketed the brooch. “Jacques, you must know something. Even if I'm allowed
to stay with you, even if we can somehow forestall your murder, I will never be
the woman to share the opera with you.”
“I
disagree,” came his vehement reply. “The woman who sang tonight is a woman who
loves song.” Setting his champagne glass on a table, he rose and pulled her
close. “And she had best express those passions
only
with me.”
Bella
couldn't repress an ecstatic sigh at his nearness, the warmth of his arms
holding her close. “You do sometimes inspire me with new courage, Jacques,” she
admitted. “But my overall feelings about theater life have not changed.”
He
leaned over to nibble at her throat. “Then what do you suggest we do, Bella?
I'm not letting you go, you know. Try to run away from me again, and next time
I'll
really
spank you.”
She
struggled to shove him away. “Oh! You really spanked me this time. And you're
hardly one to fly into a jealous fit after kissing all those women in my
presence!”
He
chuckled, his arms as tight as steel bands around her. “Bella, there will be no
other women, ever again.”
Miserably,
she met his determined gaze. “I know you think you mean that—”
“I
do
mean it,” he cut in soberly. “Bella, promise me you'll give this a chance.”
With
a sigh, she nodded. “Very well. Under the circumstances, I suppose that's only
fair. But you must promise me you'll help try to uncover the identity of your
would-be murderer.”
“Agreed.
I'm glad that's settled.” He parted her dressing gown and stroked her between
her thighs.
“Jacques
. . . again?”
“Complaining?”
Although
Bella's eager body welcomed his advances, she still felt conflicted and
uncertain. “No, but, you know, I really did worry this last time, when I was
whisked back to the present—”
“Not
that again!”
She
eyed him earnestly. “But we could be separated once more, perhaps forever—or,
heaven forbid, you could be killed. And since we don't really have a commitment
to a future together—”
“Speak
for yourself,” he interrupted.
She
hesitated for a moment, then murmured, “You told me one time that conception
could be prevented.”
He
regarded her intensely. “I have no desire to prevent it with you.”
“But
I do!”
She
heard him curse, then he released her and returned to the bedroom. She followed
him inside. “Jacques—”
He
whirled on her, his expression impassioned as he pointed at the bed. “Bella, we
consummated our love there, on that bed, in your virgin blood. Do you have any
idea what that kind of gift means to a man . . . what it meant to me?”
“It
meant a lot to me, too!”
“Did
it?” His voice rang with hurt. “You tell me we are not meant to be, that this
will never work. I am willing to marry you, to have a child with you, to live
and die in your arms.” He punched his chest with his fist. “I am fully
committed to this relationship. But you are not.”
Feeling
miserable and unable to deny the truths he had spoken, Bella stepped closer to
gave him a beseeching look. “Jacques, I didn't mean to hurt you. It's just that
this is all so confusing . . .”
He
laughed ironically. “I agree.”
She
bit her lip. “To tell you the truth, you may be right.”
His eyes
gleamed with triumph. “Am I?”
“I
mean, if something awful really did happen to you—”
“Yes,
Bella?”
In a
choked voice, she finished, “I think I would take comfort in knowing your
legacy would live on.”
A
look of sheer sensual pleasure lit his face. “Then come here and prove it,
ma
belle.”
Bella
hesitated for only a moment before untying the dressing gown and letting it
slip to the floor. She stepped into his waiting arms.
“That's
my girl,” Jacques murmured huskily, tumbling her back onto the bed with him . .
.
***
Later,
while Bella slept, Jacques donned his dressing gown, picked up the bizarre
“Xerox,” and went downstairs to the parlor. Sitting at his desk, he reread the
article several times, and also found Bella's brooch in his pocket. Again he
scrutinized the strange inscription, which seemed to argue that she was indeed
from the year 1996.
He
paced the long, narrow room, lost in thought. Could it all be true? Had Bella
spoken honestly tonight? Had she really traveled through time? And was he
fated to be murdered in less than a week?
Jacques
groaned and thrust his fingers through his hair. It all seemed preposterous,
yet on some level Bella's arguments made sense. There was her bizarre
appearance in his life a few weeks ago, followed by her frightening
disappearance four days past, followed by her astounding reappearance tonight.
If she could indeed travel through time, then these strange events took on a
certain logic. Could the bond of destiny between them be so strong that it had
overcome the barrier of time?
Yet
if Bella was right about traveling through time, then she was also right that
he might soon lose her again, if not in time, then through his own murder. She
had the ability to see the future—his future. The prospect was staggering. Had
he found the love of his life only to lose her—lose his very life—within days?
Was
there any escaping his fate? He grimly shook his head. Jacques LeFevre was not
a man to run from destiny, for he had never believed that was possible. Part of
him wanted to seize whatever happiness he and Bella could find.
But
what if her life should become endangered, too?
These
questions tormented him all night . . .
Chapter Thirty-two
To
Bella, it seemed as if the entire world was in love.
Jacques
refused to take her home until close to dawn. Even then, she thought he might
never release her as he stood kissing her in the shadows of the banquette in
front of the apartment building, while in the street beyond them, a soft,
sensual rain fell.
His
arm trembled around her. “How will I live without you until tonight,
ma
belle?”
he murmured huskily.
How
indeed?
Bella wondered, reeling with desire herself.
“Don't
run off anywhere now,” he scolded.
“I'll
try my best not to.”
At last
she managed to break away. She dashed inside through the corridor, proceeding
across the vibrant, rain-soaked patio to the stairs. She entered the apartment
to view Helene and Tommy on the settee. Both were clothed in dressing gowns,
Helene in Tommy's lap as they kissed and caressed. At the sound of Bella
entering the room, they turned to stare at her in astonishment.
Bella
did not even blush at the sight of the lovers. She felt so filled with life and
passion that the scene seemed unutterably sweet to her. “Hi,” she murmured.
At
last Helene spoke. “My God, Bella! Where have you been for the past four days?
Why did you pop up at the theater last night, then leave without speaking to
me? Don't you know we've all been worried sick?”
“Yeah,
Bella, we've been very concerned,” put in Tommy with a scowl.
Bella
offered them both a conciliatory smile, while remembering ironically that she'd
had much the same conversation with Dixie and John in the present only four
days earlier. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to worry you. You see, my grandmother
took ill suddenly and I was called away.”
“What
grandmother?” asked a flabbergasted Helene. “If I didn't know better, I'd swear
Jacques had kidnapped you and chained you to his bed. But he was as frantic
over your disappearance as were the rest of us.”
“Helene
even recruited me to help search the Quarter for you,” said Tommy.
“Look,
I'm really sorry,” said Bella.
“And
Etienne was livid that you walked out on the production. He had to reassign all
your roles.”
Bella
bit her lip. Since Jacques had dragged her away from the theater last night
only moments after she had arrived back in time, she had yet to face Ravel.
“I'm sure he's furious.”
“Then
after you reappeared so dramatically last night, singing with Andre, you
vanished once more,” said Helene, shaking her head. “Where did you go?”
Bella
felt her cheeks heating. “I—Jacques and I had some matters to settle.”
“I'll
bet you did!” quipped Helene, laughing. “Well, no harm done, I suppose.
Although you appear rather bedraggled, you seem basically all right, and I
suppose that's what matters most.”
