No Greater Love (7 page)

“A wonderful idea,” Carl replied quickly. “It is Janan’s birthday tomorrow. She’d love it.” He beamed at both of them. “She doesn’t get many opportunities to go out.” He patted Pieter on the arm. “I will stay here with my neighbor’s youngest son.” He turned to Janan. “Ask young Harold to plan on staying over and then you won’t have to watch the clock.” He smiled at her. “You know how much he wants to get into the chess club.” He shook his head. “He’ll never make it unless he improves his openings.”

“I am sorry that you won’t be joining us for dinner,” Pieter said as he took a flat package from his brief case and handed it to Carl. “I thought that you might like to have this.”

“Oh, look, Janan, Peter has sketched my home, my home in Leiden.” He gazed at the meticulously detailed drawing of a three-story, narrow, gray brick house overlooking a canal that seemed to sparkle. He sighed with satisfaction as he studied the placement of the black door with its four heavy wood panels, the large window on the first level, the two long windows on the second level, a single long window on the third floor, and the sweeping bell-shaped gabled roof tiled in gray. “It is exactly as I remember,” he said, tears sliding down his cheeks. “You, dear boy, you must have gone to Leiden . . .” His voice trailed off as he traced the door with his finger. 

“I am glad that you like it. My mother told me which house was yours.” Pieter put his arm around Carl’s shoulder. “I hope that you will be able to go home soon.”

Pieter didn’t realize that he’d been standing rigid, watching the door uncertain of whether Janan would come, until he felt his body come alive at the sight of her walking across the Inn’s lobby. He hurried forward winding his way between heavy oak tables with their Tiffany lamps and bulky Morris chairs to meet her and then stopped short. It was not a handshake that he wanted. Unable to resist the impulse, he put his hands on her shoulders, and, inhaling the almond scent of her hair, gave her the traditional Dutch ‘three kisses on the cheeks’ greeting with the final salute landing closer to the curve of her lips than customary. His words tumbled out without his thinking. “You came.”

Trembling from the delightful but unexpected greeting, she ducked her head to hide the rush of pleasure that swept through her. “I said I’d come,” she murmured as she stuffed her wool cap into her pocket.

“Let me take your coat.” Unable to help himself, Pieter let his fingertips grazed the delicate bones of her shoulders as he eased the coat off. He could feel his abdominal muscles tighten and a sensation of warmth spread through his groins as he felt the brush of her hair against his chin and noted the curve of high firm breasts beneath the pale-gold silk blouse with tiny buttons outlining the ruffled edge of the neckline. As her brown velvet skirt brushed against his thigh, he knew what he had not known for a long time—the sensation of his body hardening and the accompanying potent sensation of overall arousal. Folding her coat over one arm, he placed his other hand under her elbow, holding her close by his side. “Our table is over here.”

She slipped into the chair he held for her and glanced around surprised that people were watching them. She raised her eyebrows.

He let his eyes glide over her glossy hair held back by a woven black silk band, the lustrous eyes with the long black lashes, the porcelain-white skin, and the perfectly curved lips. “You have to forgive them for staring. They’ve probably never seen anyone as beautiful as you.”

She blushed slightly at his words. “More likely they’ve never seen anyone as foreign-looking.” She leaned toward him slightly. “Here, beautiful is petite, blond, blue eyes, and dimples. The ability to giggle is a bonus.”

His eyes crinkled as they swept appreciatively over her face and the intricately carved golden leaf necklace that followed the line of the ruffles of the blouse. “That’s a very attractive necklace. It looks as though it is old, of another time.” He nodded to the waiter to fill their wineglasses with the golden chardonnay that he had selected earlier.

“My father told me once that it was made during the early years of the Ottoman Empire when copper was pounded into thin sheets and then coated with a layer of a mixture of gold and quicksilver. He called it
Tambac
.”

“Yes, craftsmen used quicksilver, mercury, in those days. The practice was finally stopped when it became known that working with mercury was dangerous to the workers’ health.”

“My mother wore it on special occasions with three matching bangle bracelets. It was part of her dowry.” She smiled sadly. “My mother had let me wear the necklace that evening. It was Ramadan and we had fasted since daybreak. We were just getting ready for
iftar
.”

At his questioning look, she said quickly, “The evening meal that one eats after a day of fasting.” She stopped and cleared her throat. “I had already eaten two of the three dates that one eats to break the fast and could hardly wait for the Khoresh Fesenjan that I’d helped my mother make.” She laughed at his expression. “It sounds strange but it’s a delicious chicken casserole with pomegranates and nuts.” She stared at her fingers. “I’d helped my mother open the pomegranates and my fingers were still stained a dark red.” She touched the necklace. “It is all that survived of my family after the earthquake. Everything else was lost, buried under concrete rubble.”

“I am so sorry that you lost your mother and father and Tomas,” Pieter said quietly.

Janan nodded. “Sometimes the love we have is brief”—she lifted her head and her eyes met his—“but it is better than never having it.”

Pieter gazed at her steadily. “Your family is not really gone. You survived.” He raised his glass to her inviting her to drink with him.

“I owe my life to my father. He pushed me under a heavy wooden table.” She took a sip of wine. “I owe my life to many others, too, the people who dug me out, strangers digging with their bare hands.”

Pieter sat silently sensing that she wanted to say more.

“Then, there were my adoptive parents. They came and took me out of the
Sabanci Orphanage
.” She shuddered at the memory of the place. “Finally, there was Carl, my honorary uncle, always there in the background.” She smoothed the napkin in her lap. “My adoptive parents were old-fashioned. They did not believe in education beyond high school for girls but Carl convinced them to send me to college, to give me a chance to succeed.”

Pieter remained silent as the waiter placed the first course of sautéed scallops in front of them and then asked, “Did I hear you correctly? Did you say that you plan to take Carl back to Leiden when you sell your home?”

“Yes.” She frowned in frustration. “It’s taking longer to sell the house than I had expected.”

“Exactly what is keeping Carl from going home?” he asked. “Does he need someone to accompany him?” Pieter was surprised at the blush that was creeping over her cheeks
. Did I say something to embarrass her?

“At first it was the problem of reclaiming his family home, but I think that has been resolved.” She lowered her voice and said haltingly, “He thinks it will cost more to live there than it does here.” She dropped her head and murmured, “I think he is worried about not having enough money.”

“He worked all his life.” Pieter lifted his glass slowly and tasted the cabernet sauvignon that he had selected to go with their dinner and nodded his approval to the wine steward. “He did not live extravagantly. He must have been able to save some money for the future?”

“He never spent for himself but he would give to anyone who needed help—students, unemployed patients, older patients who couldn’t make ends meet—and others.” She paused, meeting Pieter’s eyes. “I think he helped others in The Netherlands.”

“He was only five years old when he left Leiden.” Pieter frowned. “How could he know people to send money to?”

“I don’t know who they were. He would give me letters addressed to people in Leiden, Amsterdam, Utrecht, and The Hague and ask me to take them to the post office so that I could buy stamps for them.” She lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. “I don’t know who he sent the letters to. It wouldn’t have been right to ask.” She shook her head. “I think his concern about money is also tied with his sense of honoring his father. He is determined to get the money his father saved for him in a Swiss bank and his father’s life insurance benefits.”

“He has a solicitor who can help him,” Pieter said thoughtfully. “I know that my mother has served as his solicitor since her father died.”

“He does talk about working with his solicitor.” She lifted her wineglass and took a sip. “I think it comforts Carl to remember that his father did everything to provide for him.” She twisted the glass. “He sees regaining the money and claiming the benefits as something important that he must do for the family that he lost in Auschwitz.”

Pieter nodded thoughtfully. “For a time, banks were unwilling to consider the claims of survivors of those killed in the concentration camps, but, in 1997, 3000 LIRO bank deposit cards were found in an abandoned building on Herengracht Canal, not far from my mother’s house. Hard to believe but the deposit cards had depositor’s names and a description of what was deposited. It was an amazing discovery. Banks around the world, even Swiss banks, were forced to reconsider survivors’ claims.”

“Carl is worried that there is not enough time . . .” Her voice trailed off. “He thinks that people want to forget. He says that they are waiting for the survivors to die off so that they can forget.”

Pieter broke the awkward silence. “Are you definitely planning to take Carl home when you sell your home?”

“Yes. There won’t be much money left after the mortgage is paid off but it will be enough to take him home.”

“What will you do if he is not able to claim the insurance benefits and the money in the Swiss bank?”

“I have thought of that. He will continue to receive U.S. Social Security Benefits and a small amount from his retirement fund. I will get a job as a nurse in Leiden or one of the other cities. I have checked and the big hospitals hire nurses from other countries.” In response to Pieter’s questioning look, she said simply, “He’s the closest thing to family I have.”

“You have lived here most of your life. You’d be leaving everything that you know.” He gave her a questioning glance as he signed the bill and stood up to pull out her chair. “You’d be leaving your home, your work, and your friends,” he said with her coat over his arm and a firm hand under her elbow.
Friends. The thought was strangely disturbing. Of course she would have friends.
Not friends,
he thought.
Is there another man who has the right to hold her in his arms, to kiss those perfect lips?
The thought sent a wave of anger spiraling through him and he tightened his grasp, drawing her closer to his side as he asked abruptly, “Is there anyone special that you would miss?”

The firmness of his arm holding her against his side re-kindled the feelings that she had experienced when she had first seen him that evening—newly shaven, immaculately dressed in a starched white shirt and gray suit, and assured. A very attractive man, no longer a patient or Carl’s friend, but a handsome man who had just surprised her with a question that made her tremble. “No, there’s no one special.” She felt another blush warm her face.

He stood in the lobby holding her securely against his side impervious to the people around them, making no move to help her with her coat. “You are a most remarkable person. You work full time, look after Carl, and yet you found a way to give me a whole day of your time. I’m truly grateful.” He rested his other hand on her shoulder, shielding her from view of others in the lobby. “Tell me. How may I repay you?”

She lifted her chin and raised her eyes to meet his gaze. “Give me the night.”

Chapter 6

“We need a quiet place where we can talk.” Pieter marched her quickly through the crowded lobby, up the half-hidden, wooden stairway, and along the narrow hall lit by Raoux horn-shaped sconces, to stop before the door of Suite 203B. He kept one hand on her arm as he slid the heavy old-fashioned key with its thick leather fob into the lock and opened the door, replacing the key in the lock after he closed the door behind them. Without saying a word, he propelled them into a suite that resembled a wooden cottage and across the tiny vestibule into a sparsely furnished, retreat-like living room. Dropping her coat over the back of a wicker chaise lounge, he pointed to the wooden armchairs flanking a round wooden table. “Let’s sit down and you can tell me exactly why you want a night of my time.” When she didn’t speak, he asked coolly, “That is what you said, isn’t it?”

Unable to meet his eyes, Janan traced the grain of the wooden table top with her fingers and nodded. She placed her palms flat on the table and leaned forward. “You live in a big city. Everyone does not know what you do but I live in a small town. Everyone knows everything that you do.”  

“What is that you are afraid of them knowing?”

She dropped her eyes and said in a low voice. “I will be 28 tomorrow and I’ve never been held in a man’s arms.” She stood up abruptly and crossed her arms across her breasts. Raising her eyes to meet his, she said, “I’ve never been kissed and I want it now. I want to be held and kissed.” She glared at him. “More than once.” Her eyes were blazing. “I want it all!”

“Why me?” He had risen and was leaning over her, close enough to touch her face, but he kept his hands clenched at his sides.

“You’ll be gone in the morning.”

“You want to seduce me because I’ll be gone in the morning?” Anger brought a red line to his cheeks as he snapped erect.

“I didn’t say that I wanted to seduce you.” She began to pace back and forth across the square-shaped room. She stopped in front of him, her expression bleak. “You just don’t get it, do you?” 

He shook his head. “Apparently not.”

“My adoptive parents were middle-aged when I came to live with them. They followed old customs.” She sighed. “When I was in high school, they did not let me date or to even go out with a group of my classmates.” She half-smiled and shrugged. “And then there was the fact that I was taller than all the boys in my class. I never fit in,” she mumbled defensively. “Even in college, I could never figure out how to turn a chance meeting into a date. Others did it so easily.” She bowed her head and whispered, “I’m a failure with men.”