Chateau of Secrets: A Novel (12 page)

“You can’t tell her where I am,” he said, worried.

“Can I tell her you are safe?”

He shook his head. “She must forget about me.”

“None of us will forget about you, Michel.”

He flashed his light again and they scanned the fallen branches and overgrowth on the forest floor.

“Why don’t you like Philippe?” she asked as they neared the lake.

“I want you to marry someone who loves you.”

She stopped walking. “You don’t think Philippe loves me?”

“Not like he should.” He hesitated. “He wants the château.”

“But the château will be yours one day.”

“Philippe is a gambling man.”

Michel resumed his walk, and she fell behind him, trying to sort out the implications of his words. What was Philippe betting on?

The trail flattened, and ahead of them, moonlight trailed across the small lake, like the filmy train of a bride. As they rounded the edge, Michel scanned the rocks and downed logs along the shore. On the other side of the lake was the shadowy entrance to a cave.

Michel ducked inside, and when he flicked on his light, she stepped in behind him.

“Stop!” he yelled, but it was too late.

Against the wall was her father, and she rushed forward. Dark bruises circled around his eyes. Dried blood caked his ears and cheeks. “Papa,” she whispered, shaking him.

Michel placed his hand on her shoulder. “Gisèle.”

She pushed her brother away. “No . . .”

Her head dropped to her father’s chest, listening for the whisper of his heartbeat, but his body was still. “Papa!” she yelled, shaking him as if he might wake again, but there was no life left in him.

Rushing outside, she retched in the bushes.

Papa had said the Germans would respect the aristocracy, that he would follow her to Lyon. That he would be safe.

Michel was beside her again, but this time she didn’t shake him away. He put his arms around her and she sobbed on his shoulder.

Had the Nazis killed him for the silver? As if silver was worth more than the life of her father, a hero of a man. How could Hitler’s soldiers kill good men, innocent men, as they plundered Europe?

Her entire body trembled as she collapsed to the ground. “I shouldn’t have left the château without him.”

“This isn’t your fault.”

She clutched the crucifix that hung around her neck. “They murdered him.”

“And they will pay for it,” he said, anger teeming in his voice.

She curled over her knees, rocking back and forth. “We must bury him.”

“The others will help me retrieve his body. We’ll bury him beside Mother.”

Michel stepped back into the cave, but she couldn’t go back inside. Her hands clasped around the cross, she whispered her prayer as she counted the beads.

Our Father who art in heaven,

Hallowed be thy name;

Thy kingdom come

Thy will be done

On earth as it is in heaven.

Michel appeared back at the entrance, his hand outstretched. She looked down at his palm in the flashlight beam and saw an onyx-and-gold cuff link with a tiny diamond in the center.

He folded his fingers around it. “I’ll kill a hundred
boches
to avenge his death.”

Her heart seemed to collapse within her. As much as she wanted revenge, she couldn’t lose two of the men she loved. “It won’t bring him back,” she said. “We should both go to Lyon.”

His eyes seemed to blaze. “I won’t cower, Gigi.”

She didn’t want him to cower, but she had to protect her younger brother. If he went into Saint-Lô now, the Germans would surely kill him.

“You must wait,” she begged.

“You can go with Philippe,” he said, his voice broken. “But I have to stay here. I have to fight them.”

Her anger collided with her fear as she walked back up the trail beside him, her body numb.

“I will help you,” she said before he slipped back into the shadows.

She wouldn’t leave her brother here alone.

A
fter the rain stopped, I reemerged onto Fifty-ninth Street, a chai latte in hand. Ahead of me was Central Park, along with the elegant façade of the Plaza, overlooking the trees. Storm clouds still threatened the shoppers who paraded along the sidewalk, but at least I could walk to the hotel without getting drenched.

On my cab ride from the airport, I’d secured a hotel room for the night, along with an appointment at their salon. After checking in, I had four hours to find the right dress and shoes before the artisans began working their magic on my makeup and hair. It was almost impossible to surprise Austin—I couldn’t wait to see his face when I walked into the ballroom.

As I crossed Fifth Avenue, a black limousine rolled up to the curb next to the hotel and a bellman rushed forward to open the door. Austin emerged from the car, and my heart leapt. Perhaps it would be just as fun to surprise Austin now, away from the spotlight. In the timing of providence, perhaps, instead of my own.

I pulled my phone out of my bag and quickly typed.

Turn around.

Smiling, I lifted my finger to send my message, but before I sent it, I glanced back up. Instead of walking into the Plaza, Austin
extended his arm back into the limousine. Another figure emerged on the sidewalk beside him. A woman.

And she was stunning.

I watched with a mixture of awe and horror as she reached for Austin’s hand.

Dropping my phone back into my purse, I watched them laugh together as they strolled up the front steps. What if someone recognized him?

I supposed it didn’t matter. Surely she was only a colleague from the party headquarters in New York.

The woman’s ebony curls bounced with her laughter, and her white summer dress glided behind her like that of a Greek goddess. I glanced down at my navy capris, wrinkled from the plane ride, and tan-colored blouse. There was no comparison between me and a goddess.

But it was Austin who had kissed me this morning, three hours ago. It was Austin who told
me
how beautiful I was and how much he loved me. As I watched him with this other woman, my head felt like it was about to explode.

There had to be an explanation—but why didn’t he let go of that woman’s hand?

The bellman opened the door to the lobby, and Austin and his escort disappeared under the golden lights.

Hiking my handbag over my shoulder, I rushed toward the hotel, and the same bellman who’d opened the door for Austin opened it for me. The lobby radiated elegance, with its marble columns and oriental rugs. To the right of the registration desk was a giant fern. I didn’t exactly hide behind it—I merely paused beside it and no one seemed to notice, perhaps because they were all staring at the eye candy dangling on Austin’s arm.

And how could they not stare? She was more striking than the gold encrusted around the lobby’s windows and doors.

I clutched my handbag to my chest. My dad would tell me not to be impulsive, to wait and make a decision after I had all the facts. The woman was probably a campaign manager for a candidate in New York or someone’s assistant sent to escort Austin to his meeting. In a few minutes, the three of us would be laughing about the misunderstanding. It would be awkward but understandable. If she wasn’t a business associate . . .

I couldn’t allow myself to linger on that possibility.

The man at the registration desk slipped Austin an envelope and told him his room—the Edwardian Fifth Avenue Suite—overlooked the Pulitzer Fountain from the eighteenth floor. Austin turned to pick up his suitcase, and I almost wished he would glance up and see me hovering beside the fern.

He didn’t notice me.

Now that he had his hotel key in hand, I prayed he would say good-bye to the woman. Bid her a good day. But there was no handshake as they parted ways. Or the kiss of the French on both cheeks. The woman trailed Austin to the elevator and slipped inside.

As the doors began to close, I saw Austin lean down. Even though I knew the scene would haunt me, I couldn’t look away. Before the doors shut, I watched the man I was supposed to marry kiss her lips.

The bright colors of the lobby fused together and I felt as if I might faint.
Air.
I needed fresh air. Rushing back out the lobby doors, I collapsed against a column and pounded my fists against the stone, gasping the warm, fume-laden air. The relentless horns of taxis rattled my head. Messy tears flooded my cheeks.

How could I have been so stupid?

I punched the column again. I’d known something was off the moment Lisa mentioned the trip to New York. Or perhaps it was before, when Austin lectured me on the importance of my commitment and then put me on a plane to France.

No wonder he hadn’t wanted me to call him during my layover. And why he’d neglected to invite me on this trip. His
meeting
would indeed encompass all of his time.

My head whirled as I pressed against my brows. It was too much to comprehend.

“Are you all right, miss?”

I looked up at the tall form of a uniformed bellhop. My body shook as I tried to right myself. “It’s just a headache,” I said, pointing to my forehead.

What else could I tell him—that I feared my fiancé was sleeping with another woman? That my relationship, my future, was crumbling before me? He might tell me to ditch the guy, but it wasn’t that easy.

“Can I get you some Advil?” he asked.

When I shook my head, he backed away.

I’d given my heart, along with my dreams, to the traitor upstairs. If I ended our engagement now, the media would feast on the story of Austin’s indiscretion. My closest friends would pity me, while those who didn’t know me—including the hundreds who’d already received a wedding invitation—might wonder what I’d done to make my fiancé unfaithful. Others might joke about a last fling before he tied the knot.

I thought Marissa had been jealous of what Austin and I had, but I’d been a fool. She and my parents would tell me to march upstairs and break it off.

Instead of confronting him, I could take a taxi back to the airport for the night and then fly on to Paris in the morning. Pretend
I never saw him kissing that woman. Guzzle mint juleps all the way across the Atlantic until my heart was numb.

A picture slashed violently through my mind. It was me, thirty years from now, the miserable Mrs. Vale. Like Austin’s mother, I would have to tolerate his sorties for the sake of—for the sake of what? Being the wife of a politician or the money that came from being married to a successful man. Or to hold my broken family together by pretending that everything was fine and then demanding that everyone join me in looking the other way while my husband flaunted his latest affair. Instead of standing up to my husband, I would ask our precocious son to pass the potatoes.

No one respected Mrs. Vale—including Mrs. Vale. If I tolerated Austin’s unfaithfulness, I would never be able to respect myself either.

If I broke our engagement, I’d be the punch line of late-night jokes and tabloid headlines, but better to be a punch line than the miserable wife of a man who preferred to be with other women.

I wanted to scream. Hurl something through the window. Run.

So many people had compared Austin’s charisma and charm to John F. Kennedy’s. Is this what Jackie felt like the first time she found out about her husband’s affairs? Angry and ashamed.

Perhaps she felt trapped in their marriage, but I wasn’t trapped. There was still time for me to walk away.

My heart heavy, I wiped away my tears and stepped back into the lobby. My father and Marissa had both warned me that Austin might be hiding something, but I’d ignored the waving of their red flags.

The elevator delivered me to the eighteenth floor, to a long hall lit with golden wall sconces and masked with mirrors. All it needed was smoke to complete the illusion.

My stomach rolled when I heard a woman laugh in the Edwardian Fifth Avenue Suite, like Megan laughing in the Vales’ home. In front of the suite was an alcove with a stiff leather bench, and I sat, wishing I could break down the door.

Instead I pulled out my phone, looked at the text I’d almost sent on the sidewalk. The one asking Austin to turn around.

If I’d sent it, he might have turned and slammed the car door before I saw the woman with him. Years or even decades might have passed before I learned the truth.

My stomach curled at the thought.

Austin’s mother might have tolerated her husband’s infidelities. Countless politicians’ wives before me might have looked the other way. But I could not.

Slowly I began to delete each letter in my original text. Then, taking a deep breath, I began to type again.

I made it to NYC,
I wrote.
You here?

This time I heard his laugh blending with hers. Were they mocking me? I wiped away the last of my tears.

A few minutes later, he texted back.

Crazy storm, huh? I’m here. In meetings already.

So this is what he referred to as a meeting? Bitter, I joined in their laughter.

My phone flashed again with another text.

I miss you.

His audacity infuriated me.

Right . . .
I typed. Casual bait to catch my fish.
Whatcha meeting about?

He texted right back.
Budgets. Boring stuff . . .

Doesn’t sound a bit boring to me.

His reply came at lightning speed.
U ok???

I stared at the phone for a moment, and the aching in my heart almost drowned out the anger. There was still time to run away. Pretend that everything was fine.

Yet I couldn’t do it. Perhaps the meeting really was providential.

I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes.

Laughter no longer bled through the door in front of me, and I wondered what might be going through Austin’s head. Usually he knew the game plan of each player around him before he calculated his next move. Perhaps it was good to make him a little nervous.