Leonie (77 page)

Edouard groped his way across to the candelabra. “It’s all right, Miss Peabody,” he called, his voice sounding strange even to himself. “We’ll have the candles lit in a moment.”

In the candles’ fitful light he watched as Roberto was carried across the hall and placed carefully on a couch. The men stood back respectfully avoiding his eyes and Edouard stared at them puzzled.
It couldn’t be true!
He didn’t want to believe it was true.
Please God
, let it
not
be that. But Roberto was dead.

“Would you please take Mr. do Santos upstairs?” asked Miss Peabody quietly. “Lay him on one of the beds. And bring Monsieur Edouard a glass of brandy, Henry. My sister has had nursing experience,” she said to Edouard. “She will see to your shoulder.”

There was another sudden gust and the sound of more broken glass. “I think I’d better take a look at that,” she said calmly, “and see what can be done.”

Edouard watched numbly as she disappeared in the direction of the grand salon. Miss Peabody was in charge and she was indomitable. He leaned his head against the chair and closed his eyes as they carried Roberto’s body upstairs. He could recall with complete clarity the blond little boy with Zeze, his pet ram; the young Roberto, a golden-limbed athlete playing polo for his team; kind-hearted Roberto, always the peacekeeper between Amélie and his friends. Amélie’s husband, the boy and the man she had always loved, father of her children. And he wept for the boy he had known and for the sorrow Amélie would have to face.

The nightmare was not yet over. The sea surged along the terrace and into the gardens and the waves hurled themselves at the shutters. They could feel the building shudder as though it were a sinking ship and they stood around, nervous and apprehensive, sipping Scotch as the night wore on and the wind and sea showed no sign of abating. The sisters sat side by side on the sofa, knitting calmly and, for once, voicing no complaint as their brother joined the whiskey drinkers.

Although Edouard’s watch said seven in the morning, there was no glimpse of any dawn through the cracks in the shutters, night and day were the same, and it wasn’t until noon that the first lessening in the wind came and the sky began to brighten. The hurricane had passed. Only the dead and the damage remained in its wake.

–
• 68 •

Amélie couldn’t remember which was worse, the moment when Edouard had told her that Roberto was dead, or his funeral, when his poor broken body had been laid to rest beneath the golden blue skies of a clear Florida day. Anyway, it didn’t matter, she thought wearily, nothing mattered anymore. She pulled her chair close to the window and sat gazing at the blue bay down below.

The Villa Encantada was silent. Grandmère had returned to Rio, and Xara and Edouard were in Miami with the children, their own and hers. A pang of guilt ran through Amélie as she thought about her little daughters. It had been a month since she had come to Key West with just Grandmère for company, a month since she had seen her children. And it was two months since Roberto had died. Even just thinking the word made her feel cold inside. She closed her eyes against the pain as if she could see him with the palm tree pinning his beautiful strong body into the mud. It was too much to bear, she couldn’t take it! There’s nothing left to live for, she moaned softly to the empty room. Nothing! But there was, Grandmère had told her, there were Lais and Leonore—Roberto’s children—she should thank God she had that legacy. How could Grandmère possibly know how remote those two sweet blond babies seemed at this moment? They were too young and too innocent to know anything other than that they missed that nice man they had just learned to call Papa. Maybe Grandmère was right and they should be a comfort, but they
weren’t
and it must be
her
fault. She was an unfeeling mother, neglecting her babies, wallowing in her own grief!

Amélie felt helpless; there was nothing she could do to fight against her feelings, she was swamped by them, overwhelmed by
pain. She wanted to sit in this darkened room forever and never have to talk to anyone. It was easier that way.

Edouard strolled from the ferry along the pier, head bent, lost in thought. He was here because of Xara, it was her idea and he hoped fervently that it would work. The keys jingled in his pocket as he walked along the main street to the ice-cream parlor, where he bought a quart of chocolate and a quart of peach, Amélie’s favorites, smiling at his foolishness—as if a childish thing like her favorite ice cream could help her! Isabelle had warned him that Amélie wasn’t eating, that she wasn’t doing anything. She stayed indoors, she barely ate, she would see no one. They must do something about her. It was then that Xara had come up with the idea. Edouard sighed as he climbed into the taxi, he surely hoped it was going to work.

Who could that be? wondered Amélie, startled by the sound of footsteps in the hall. She glanced at her watch. Four o’clock, she must have been dozing. It was probably only Zita, the maid. But no, it couldn’t be—she’d given the maids the week off, she’d wanted to be quite alone. Her ears strained for the sound again as she tiptoed to the bedroom door and stood listening. There was a noise in the kitchen!

“Who’s there?” she called, flinging open the door and walking along the gallery at the top of the stairs.

“Amélie. It’s me—Edouard.”

She sagged against the rail in relief, gazing down at him. “Edouard! What are you doing here?”

Edouard hurried up the steps toward her. “I came to see you, of course.” She felt weightless as he put his arms around her, holding her close. Her bones were like those of a bird under his hands. Edouard held her back from him, assessing her. “I thought so,” he said accusingly. “You’re not eating.”

“I eat enough,” said Amélie defensively. “I’m all right, Edouard, really I am. There was no need to come rushing over here just because Grandmère has left. I’m quite happy being alone.”

“I’m sure you are,” said Edouard grimly, “but your daughters are not.”

Amélie’s eyes widened in alarm. “There’s nothing wrong is there?”

“No. There’s nothing
wrong
with Lais and Leonore, it’s just that it will be their second birthday next week and it would be nice if their mother was there to celebrate it with them. Especially now that they have no father,” he added deliberately. Shock her, Xara had told him, you must jolt her out of the awful apathy, put the responsibility on her shoulders, make her face up to it, Edouard. She must, for the children’s sake—and her own.

Amélie stepped back a pace. What was he saying, didn’t he know she couldn’t bear to talk about it? “I … I was just lying down in my room,” she whispered, edging away down the corridor.

Edouard grabbed her hand. “Come downstairs with me,” he said pulling her along. “I’ve got something for you.”

“Edouard, I … I don’t feel very well, I think I’d rather just go back to my room and lie down. Oh, I forgot, I’ve given the maids the week off, you will have to go to the St. James for dinner.”

“And what were you proposing to eat for dinner?” Her silent face answered Edouard’s question. “Come with me,” he said, walking her down the stairs.

The two cartons of ice cream were already melting onto the kitchen table, and Edouard sat Amélie in a chair and scooped a spoonful of each flavor into a bowl. “There,” he said with a grin, “your favorites.”

Doesn’t he know, wondered Amélie, that nothing is any good anymore? Doesn’t he understand that? Her eyes met Edouard’s piteously across the table as the ice cream sat untouched in front of her.

“Not eating isn’t going to resolve anything, Amélie. It won’t bring Roberto back.”

Her eyes fell, the long curling lashes making shadows on her pale cheeks. Her once-lustrous hair lay limp, its golden strands dull and lifeless. Edouard’s hand trembled on the spoon, how he hated hurting her like this, but it had to be done for her own sake.

“Lais and Leonore are wonderful,” he said. “They’re toddling all over the place, there’s no holding them. They remind me so much of when you were that age, Amélie, it’s wonderful to see. Of course, they look like their father, too; Roberto was as blond as you. Lais has his eyes, that nice clear blue—”

“Stop it!” Anger throbbed in Amélie’s voice beneath the pain. “Why are you doing this … stop it, Edouard.
Please.
”

“Then you think it’s fair never to speak of Roberto now that he’s dead? Are we all to pretend that he never existed? What kind of foolishness is that, Amélie? Roberto has the right to be remembered, to be spoken of … to be
loved
. Don’t you see, Amélie, his death has to become a part of our lives so that we can all live with it!”

Amélie stared at him, stony-faced, and Edouard hesitated. Had he gone too far? If he had, there was no going back now. “There are two children in Miami who need their mother. More than that, Amélie, they have a
right
to their mother. Their father was killed and their future is in your hands. They are dependent on
you
, Amélie do Santos.”

Amélie lifted her chin as though she were taking a blow. Edouard was right, the children were her responsibility. But she didn’t want to go back to Miami, she didn’t want to go anywhere, she just wanted to stay in the safety of that room upstairs. How could she return and be laughing and playful with the children the way they would expect her to be, the way she had always been? It was all different now. Life was empty.

Edouard took the keys from his pocket and held them up in front of her. “These are the keys to the Palaçio d’Aureville,” he said calmly. “They are the keys that I would have handed to Roberto when he took up the position of manager of the hotel next month, a job he had worked hard for and one that I had no hesitation in offering him. He deserved it.” He put the keys on the table between them and pushed back his chair. The tiled floor echoed to his footfalls as he paced the kitchen. “The damage to the hotel has been repaired and the grounds are being relandscaped. We expect to be able to open on time and the hotel will be at least half-full for the first two weeks—after that it is fully booked for the season. We’re installing two swimming pools and a gymnasium and Michel, the chef, is already dreaming up new menus to tempt our guests. The staff is ready and waiting. All we need now is a manager.”

Amélie sat stiffly at the table, wondering why she had to know all this, what did it matter?

Edouard’s eyes bored into her. “We have put a lot of time into the Palaçio d’Aureville—myself, Xara, Grandmère, Roberto—and a hell of a lot of money. The job of manager is yours, Amélie.” Her head lifted and her shocked eyes gazed into his. “Roberto would have wanted it this way,” Edouard continued. “You ran the
Rio hotel for Grandmère, and you helped Roberto with the Palaçio, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be capable of this task.” He held up his hand as she started to protest. “I won’t take no for an answer, Amélie, there will be no other manager. If you don’t take the job, then the Palaçio d’Aureville will close before it even reopens.”

Edouard walked to the table and pushed the keys toward her. “There are the keys. The Palaçio d’Aureville is waiting for you. It’s a challenge, Amélie, but I know you can do it.”

He strolled to the door, turning to look at her still sitting there silently, her back to him. “You’d better eat your ice cream,” he called. “It’s melting.”

A half-smile played around Amélie’s mouth. It had taken a lot of nerve to make a grandstand play like that and she admired him for it. Not only that, she knew that having said it he would stick by his word: if she refused the job as manager he would let the Palaçio close. He had left her no choice. She picked up the heavy bunch of keys, hefting their weight in her hand as Roberto must have done many times. The chair scraped on the tiles as she pushed it back and walked to the door to find Edouard. “A challenge,” he said; it would be more than a mere challenge, it would be an uphill struggle of sheer hard work, but she welcomed the idea. My God, how she welcomed it.

–
• 69 •

In June 1914 Léonie had dismissed the threat of war in Europe as ridiculous. Who could imagine war when the sun shone, the Mediterranean seemed bluer than ever, and soft breezes cooled exquisite summer nights? Who, she wondered, could want to disturb such perfection?

And how could there be war when in July the streets of Paris were alive with beautiful young people, dressed in the chic city’s latest fashions, always seeming to be going to, or coming from some wild, extravagant party? Music hung like a haze over Paris’s terraces and pavements, and the delicious smell of coffee and freshly baked breads tantalized early morning strollers. But in the cafés, Frenchmen read their newspapers in worried silence, and the gossip turned from women to war, from vacations in Deauville to problems in the Balkans.

“It has to come, Léonie,” Jim told her, flipping the black-headlined newspaper onto the table between them.

Léonie sipped her coffee, gazing at the crowded terrace of La Coupole, avoiding his eyes. She didn’t want to spoil this perfect morning with talk of war.

“It’s no use avoiding the subject or hoping for miracles, Léonie, the situation is grave.”

“But everyone says that the newspapers are exaggerating, that it will all be worked out.”

“It’s too late, darling, the machinery is already in motion. We must make the decision.”

“Decision?”

“Do I take you back to America? Or do we stay here and face it?”

Leave France when there was to be a war? Leave the inn? Damn it, she had struggled and suffered to achieve her home, and
now he was suggesting she simply up and leave it for the enemy! “Never,” she cried passionately, “I’ll never leave France. I’ll kill anyone who tries to take the inn from me!”

Jim grinned, he had known what she would say. “Okay. That resolves that! We stay. The next question is, how will they feel about having an American in the French army?”

Selfishly Léonie half-hoped that the army wouldn’t accept him. The thought of being without Jim, and worse, of him probably being in battle, terrified her. Jim was made a member of the intelligence service and suddenly Léonie perceived another side to the carefree, easygoing man who had pursued and won her. His always cheerful smile could no longer hide the concern in his eyes, his confident plans for their future covered an increasing feeling of futility as world events charged headlong to the only conclusion, and his love for her carried the passion of a man unsure of how many more days they might spend together.