Scent of Triumph (25 page)

Jon made no response. Victoria’s in top form, he thought, heat gathering on the back of his neck.

Swiftly, his father cut in. “Give the lad time to catch his breath.”

“Excuse me while I freshen up.” Grateful to his father, Jon gave Victoria another peck on the cheek, then bounded up the stairs two at a time to his bedroom.

He had to admit that Victoria looked good. It would be easy to let himself be swept up in the moment. Soon she’d be planning a wedding, and from that moment on, he’d never have a moment’s peace. She was a demanding woman, with a cunning, clever manner, just like his mother, God love her.

And then, there was Danielle.

He tore off his shirt and found a fresh one in his closet. Marriage. Grandchildren. Nothing would make his parents happier, he conceded. He had always been a dutiful son, and even he could understand the advantages of a marriage to Victoria, particularly in view of Abigail’s condition, which was a private family matter.

He buttoned his shirt and noticed it was tight. He’d bulked up even more during the naval training program. He went into the bathroom to splash water on his face. In the mirror, he saw more grey in his bleached chestnut hair and new lines on his ruddy forehead. Perhaps his mother was right, perhaps it was time to think about marriage. Most of his friends had already taken the plunge. He toweled his face dry and ran a comb through his hair. Victoria was certainly considered a catch. Wealthy, socially prominent, attractive.

He caught himself actually considering the option. “I
must
be exhausted,” he mumbled as he put on a jacket before returning downstairs.

He spotted his mother in the drawing room, standing by the mantle, her silvered mahogany hair set off by her rust tweed suit. She turned imperiously. “Well?”

Jon lifted his palms. “Well what?”

“What about Victoria?” Harriet’s eyes flashed with annoyance. “She’s waited for you.”

Jon grabbed a handful of mixed nuts from a crystal bowl on a table. “What’s the rush, Mother?”

“We’re at war, for heaven’s sake. Anything could happen.”

“And you want grandchildren.” Jon popped a few nuts into his mouth.

“Naturally.”

Jon smirked. “Little heirs.”

She threw her hands up. “You men.”

“So if I don’t come back, the family line is protected. God forbid the male line should die before a seed is firmly planted. Thank you Mother, for your concern.” He threw the rest of the nuts into his mouth.

At that moment, Victoria entered the drawing room and crossed to his side. “Jon darling, I couldn’t help but overhear. Your mother is just trying to be helpful.” She fluttered her lashes and said, “She has a point, so why don’t we skip the pretense?” Her eyes shone, her voice caressed the air, and she slid her hand up his arm. She murmured in his ear, “We could be married before you return.”

Despite his resolve, a quiver of excitement coursed down his spine. He swung around to meet Victoria’s gaze. He would not be coerced, he decided. “Frankly, my dear, I think an ambitious woman like you could do much better than a naval rogue like me.”

Victoria recoiled as though he had struck her. “Why, Jon, what do you mean?”

Harriet glared at him.

“Sorry, must run.” He grabbed another handful of nuts and started for the door. “I promised Libby I’d see her for tea.”

“Jonathan!” he heard his mother yell as he hastened from the house.

He knew his mother would chastise him later, but he had only forty-eight precious hours. Once outside, he paused to fill his lungs with fresh air. The afternoon sun cast a golden glow on the crisp autumn day. It wasn’t far to the Leibowitz home, so he decided to walk, tossing nuts into his mouth as he went. Although he was accustomed to the sea, the feel of the earth, firm beneath his feet, provided welcome reassurance. He rolled tension from his neck. His eyes crinkled as he leaned his head back, chuckling with relief at his hurried exit from his parents’ home.

The sun grew warmer as he walked, leaves crunching beneath his feet. The perfect weather brought to mind lazy weekends of years gone by. With the war in full force, there was no time for frivolities, for holidays and parties and hunts and shooting, vestiges of his life before the war.

The war. He shuddered involuntarily. He remembered the first war causality he had witnessed. An old school chum had died tragically in his arms, his broad chest slashed open by a mortar shell, his blood spilling forth, his life ebbing away, while Jon, awash in his friend’s blood, was utterly powerless to help. Amidst Jon’s anguished cries, his friend had choked out his final words before he died,
Tell my family I love them
. Jon had never felt so helpless or enraged.

Forty-eight hours. God, how he needed them.

With swift steps, he covered the path to the Leibowitz home. When he reached the door, he raised his hand and knocked. The door swung open under his hand.

“Hello, Hadley.” Jon greeted the butler, and as they spoke, Libby entered the room. Her delicately lined face was wreathed in a smile, a genuine smile that revealed strong, white teeth and softened her dark, wren-like features. Jon stooped to hug her, glad to see the woman who was like an aunt to him. “Libby, how lovely you look. And you’re still as small as a bird.”

“Jonathan, my boy.” She stepped back to admire him. “How handsome you look. Have you had tea?”

He grinned at her. “I thought you’d never ask.”

She took his hand and led him into the atrium room.

They passed a crystal vase of luscious yellow roses, which burst from tight salmon buds into golden, creamy yellow blossoms tinged with delicate strokes of subtle peach. Libby waved her hand. “My roses were voted Best of Show this year,” she announced with obvious pride. Their intoxicating aroma filled the atrium and reminded Jon of his visit to Grasse, and of Danielle.

Danielle.

A pang of loneliness tore at him. He remembered visiting her here in this room, with Max.

Jon glanced around. He loved this room, and it hadn’t changed since he was a boy. Dark polished wood floors gleamed in the sunlight, filtered through high atrium windows overhead. Aubusson rugs of rich blues and corals anchored the room, and a pair of yellow and coral chintz sofas flanked a soaring window. The only additions he could ascertain were heavy blackout drapes that hung at every window. When dusk gathered, Jon knew the drapes would be drawn to block light that might attract German bombers.

“So good of you to visit,” Libby said as they sat down. She motioned to Hadley for tea service. “Tell me, how are you? Really?”

“It’s been a tough tour.” Jon blew a breath out. “I fear this war might last longer than we’d originally anticipated.”

“I’m glad we have men like you to defend us.” Her face darkened, and she looked down at her hands, neatly folded in her lap. “My sister wasn’t so lucky. She was killed when Holland was invaded. Carted off like cattle, and murdered.”

He placed his hand gently over Libby’s. “I know, Mother wrote me. I’m awfully sorry. Listen, we don’t have talk about this whole mess if you don’t want.”

Libby nodded. “Of course, you’re not here for long are you?” She brightened a little. “Tell me, how is Abigail? I haven’t heard from her since she left for the States.”

“Busy with her Red Cross work in Los Angeles.” He elaborated on his sister’s activities and their mutual friends. “She wrote that she’s raising funds to start a new charity for war orphans.”

“Good for her, I like the sound of that. Your mother must be proud of her. And happy to see you, I daresay.”

Jon grimaced. “Mother is up to her usual tricks.” He told her about Harriet and Victoria.

“Really?” she exclaimed. “Victoria’s a fine girl, of course, but she is a bit, well, how should I put it?”

“Spirited?”

“That’s right. Forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn, but I simply don’t see the two of you together.”

He shook his head. “She’s very charming, and quite popular. Then there’s the family alliance. We’ve been friends forever, and I like her well enough, but—”

“Nice,” she interrupted, “but hardly reason enough to marry. I imagine the pressure from your family is immense.” She cocked her head. “It’s about love, Jonathan. Never forget that. After all these years, I love my husband more today than the day we met. You must decide if that’s what you want. Or do you want to have children, and then live separate lives with lovers on the side, coming together only for social events and holidays?”

Hadley knocked softly and entered, carrying a silver tea service with an assortment of biscuits and sandwiches. He placed it on the table before them. “Sorry, madam, no sugar.”

“These rations.” Libby sighed. “But it’s a small price for freedom, and much better for my waistline.”

“Shall I serve you now?” Hadley asked.

“No, thank you, Hadley. I’ll serve Jon.”

Hadley turned and left, closing the door behind him.

Libby turned to Jon and took his hands. “You must listen to your heart, my son. With the war underway, many young people feel an urgency to get married.” With her small hand she traced Jon’s scarred knuckles. “Have the courage you show in battle, to make such a decision at home.”

“You’re right, of course, but our families would be delighted.” He grew quiet, thinking of his devotion to his family. Someday he hoped to have a son to follow him in the business his father had built. His conscience gnawed at him. Was there some truth in his mother’s words? Jon glanced at Libby. “In time, Victoria might change for the better.”

Libby regarded him for a moment. She lifted the teapot, poured two cups of tea, and passed one to Jon. “But it wouldn’t be fair of you to marry Victoria if you’re in love with another woman.”

Jon sloshed his tea over the thin china rim. “But, I’m not,” he sputtered. He reached for a napkin.

A smile flitted across Libby’s face. “Aren’t you? As I recall, you were quite enamored with Danielle. Even went to Grasse and helped her give birth. Quite commendable, Jon.”

“But she was a married woman.”

“Not anymore, God rest Max’s soul.”

Jon picked up a cucumber sandwich and wolfed it down.

“It’s Danielle, isn’t it?”

He stopped eating and heaved a great sigh.
Was he that transparent?
True, Danielle was everything Victoria was not. In Grasse he had felt himself falling in love with her. “I don’t know, the timing is all wrong. And I don’t know if it will ever be right.”

“She’s a fine woman.”

He nodded. “I should be so honored.”

“Have you heard from her recently?”

“We write, but mail is slow to reach me,” Jon said. “The last letter I received she posted from Portugal, just before she left Europe.”

“What a tragic turn of events.” Libby frowned and clicked her tongue. “I received a letter yesterday from her. She’s returned to Los Angeles with her mother and niece and baby, and she’s working in a boutique. Danielle is a woman of immense character. She sounded quite burdened, but determined.”

Jon nodded and pushed his plate away, his hunger suddenly dissipated. “Max was a swell fellow. Like any couple, they had their problems, I suppose, but they were in love. For Danielle to lose him, her son, and most of her family, why, it’s unfathomable. How can someone possibly survive so much loss?” He swept his hand across his face in despair. “How could I possibly understand the depth of her pain? How could I ever help her overcome it?”

Libby sipped her tea thoughtfully. “I remember how devastated I was after I lost my parents in the Great War. At times, I thought I would never recover. Some people didn’t. Survival guilt, it’s called. But life goes on, and I came to be grateful for that which others had lost. Life. How precious it is. And now, my sister....” She shook her head, put her tea down, and faced him. “Life is too short, Jon. Given time, Danielle will overcome her grief. She has an inexorable will to survive. And the war can’t last forever.”

“I hope not. But I’m in England, she’s in America, and she has no idea what I feel for her. I’m not even sure of it myself. Is it love? Or is it just these crazy times?” His expression fell. Though he was a man not easily intimidated, a feeling of helplessness washed over him. “It just seems too complicated. Furthermore, I don’t think I could compete with her husband. The consummate gentleman, he was. Then there are the children. I honestly don’t know if I could do it.”

“Does she have any idea how you feel?”

“I don’t think so.” He hesitated, remembering their embrace, their kiss. Had she thought it was only his desire to comfort her? He had held her in his arms for but a moment, yet he had relived that moment a thousand times as he lay in his bunk at sea. Had she suspected his true feelings? He was careful in his letters to her.

“I see.” Libby nodded sagely. “I’ll grant you, it’s a difficult situation, but I believe you and Danielle are well-suited.” She thought for a moment. “She’ll be busy enough with her poor mother and the two girls. At least Abigail and Cameron are near enough to look after her.”

Jon scowled with disdain. “Right. Cameron.”

Libby appeared not to notice. “You should continue to write to her.”

“And what shall I do about Victoria?”

“Be honest with her.”

“Won’t be easy. She can be quite convincing. And you know how insistent Mother can be.”

Libby smiled. “You asked for my opinion. But it’s up to you to decide. You must stand up to the opposing forces, if that’s what you really want.”

“I’ll do my best.” He rose, kissed her cheek and promised he’d write, then took his leave, feeling substantially better than when he’d arrived.

He paused on the front step, thinking. Still, the continuation of their family line depended on him, and it weighed heavily on his conscience. Even Libby didn’t know about Abigail’s physical impairment.

Then, knowing what awaited him at home, he turned away from his home and headed to his club in the city.

Clara breezed into her office. She was a startling vision in a shocking pink suit, her platinum hair swinging about her shoulders. With a deft motion she tugged off her kid gloves and tossed them onto her inlaid marquetry desk. “What’s this?” she blurted, waving at the perfume bottles that sat next to her speech outline.