PHANTOM IN TIME (39 page)

Jacques
appeared amazed. “You mean as in Verne's 'A Trip to the Moon?'“

“Precisely.
In fact, many of the predictions Verne made—submarines and missiles, for
example—came to pass in the twentieth century.”

“It
is quite a fantastical sounding world,” Jacques remarked. He regarded her
anxiously. “Do you miss this world? Do you want it more than you want to be
with me?”

Bella
was silent for a long moment. “I miss Gran,” she said at last, her voice thick
with emotion.

“Your
grandmother who is so infirm there?”

She
nodded.

He
appeared both fascinated and concerned. “You said you saw her when you went
back?”

“Yes.
She knows about you—about what has happened to me.”

“And
what did she have to say on the subject? Did she insist you stay there?”

A
tender smile lit Bella's face. “Gran was, as always, utterly selfless. She said
her life is over and I must embrace my destiny—wherever that takes me.”

Jacques
kissed her brow and spoke huskily. “Bless your grandmother for that. And you
must stay here. I must agree with her. Perhaps our love and the pull of our
destiny together became stronger than time itself.”

She
shook her head. “You think like Gran, all right. I just doubt it will be that
simple to sort out the puzzle of our lives together.”

“And
what about your parents?” he asked. “Did you lose them as you told me?”

She
shuddered. “Yes, I lost them there—six years ago. They were actually on their
way to a performance when the accident happened.”

He
caressed her cheek and gazed at her with compassion. “I'm sorry, Bella.”

She
smiled at him bravely. “Theirs was never a happy marriage. Mama and Papa
constantly competed and attacked one another, both on and off the stage. Their
one true passion seemed to be the opera. But even there, they could be cruel
and vicious toward one another, making cruel comparisons. One time my mother
even hired a claque to boo my father's performance of
Don Giovanni.”

His
mouth fell open. “My God! No wonder you fear sharing the opera with a man.”

“I
think they were both deeply insecure. Whatever they accomplished onstage, it
was never enough. My mother fretted that she would never know the greatness of
Marilyn Horne, my father that he was outshone by Pavarotti.”

“These
were famous singers of your time?”

“Yes.”

He
mulled over her words with a frown. “Have you thought that perhaps it was the
time itself that may have provoked some of this unhealthy competitiveness, and
their unhappiness?”

“That's
possible,” she conceded. “My father always used to say the world had given up
its passion for music and had embraced cynicism instead. He felt the heyday of
great opera passed with Caruso.”

“Caruso,”
Jacques repeated. “Is he not the talented young tenor who caused such a stir
when he made his debut in Naples two seasons past?”

Bella
chuckled. “He is indeed.”

“So
according to your father, the zenith of great opera would be now,” Jacques said
carefully.

“Yes.”

He
clutched her hand and spoke with building excitement. “Then your grandmother
and I are right. Perhaps this
is
where you're meant to be, to fulfill
our destiny together.”

“I'm
not so sure, Jacques.”

“But
haven't you sung here—sung brilliantly?”

“Yes.
In fact, Gran thinks it is only here that I'll be able to overcome my fear.”

“Your
grandmother is very wise.” Jacques regarded her beseechingly. “Bella, please do
not miss your other life too much. Is the world you left behind you so much
better than this one?”

His
intent expression compelled her honesty. She caught an unsteady breath. “Well,
there were many more modern conveniences, many strides made there. But there
was also much more crime, pollution, and congestion.” She gazed around the
serene square. “The world I left behind me has lost something basic that we
seem to have here.”

Jacques
raised her hand and kissed it. “And what is that, my love?”

She
shook her head in wonderment. “Decency? Optimism? Here we have old-fashioned
values, a slower pace of life, things that are lost where I used to live. For
instance, on the night I first arrived here, my dear friend Helene immediately
took me under her wing, offering me a home. Back in the twentieth century, no
woman in her right mind would extend such a courtesy to a complete stranger.
People are much more suspicious there. They have to be. It's not an age like
this one, where people can leave their doors unlocked.”

“Ah,
so your world has lost its innocence.”

“Oh,
yes.”

He
stroked the curve of her jaw with his fingertip. “Have women there also lost
their innocence?”

She
laughed. “I would say romance has lost much of its innocence. And attitudes
regarding women having love affairs or premarital sex have become much more
liberal.”

Jacques's
dark eyes gleamed with pride and ardor. “And yet you came to me an innocent,
didn't you,
ma belle?”

Her cheeks
heating, Bella stood, staring ahead at the cathedral. “Jacques, I am
different—an anomaly. I lived a sheltered life compared to most girls. As a
child, I attended private schools and spent my free hours with a vocal coach.
Later, my years of intensive training at the San Francisco Conservatory left
little free time for a social life. When I moved to New York . . . well, I
pretty much savored the anonymity.”

He
stood and approached her from behind, placing his hands on her shoulders,
leaning over to kiss her cheek. “I'm very glad you're different. It would have
driven me crazy had some other man claimed you before I did.”

Irate,
she turned and punched his arm. “Oh, you're such a brazen chauvinist! And I'm
not supposed to resent all the women who had you?”

He
chuckled. “You have me now.”

“So
I do.” She grew serious. “Jacques, do you believe me now when I say I'm from
another time?”

He
nodded soberly.

“Do
you believe me when I say you're going to be murdered Tuesday night?”

He
sighed. “Perhaps.”

“Will
you at least stay away from the opera house that night?”

He
muttered a curse. “You are the one who must stay away. You are the one who was
hurt last night. For all we know, the murderer could be targeting you.”

She
waved her arms. “Jacques, don't be ridiculous! Everything I've learned about
this mystery points to you. Someone in the theater wants to kill you. And I
want your promise that you'll stay away Tuesday night.”

He
was silent for a long moment, his frown attesting that he was carefully
considering her request. At last, he spoke with surprising humility. “Bella, I
am not a particularly religious man. But I believe in fate—the fate that
clearly brought you to me—and I do have a philosophy of sorts. I believe if it
is truly my destiny to die next week, then there's nothing we can do to stop
it.”

Bella
waved a hand in agitation. “So that's it, eh? When your number is up, it is
up?”

“So
to speak.”

“If
it's your time, it will happen whether you're at the theater or not?” she
pursued.

“Oui.”

She
heaved a great groan. “But that is absurd! If there was no chance of saving
you, then why was I sent here?”

Grinning,
he leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Perhaps to make my final days heavenly
ones?”

She
pulled away, glowering. “I disagree. I was sent here to warn you, and like a
fool, a fatalist, you refuse to listen!”

Jacques
drew himself up with dignity. “I am a man with courage enough to face up to my
destiny. You are the one who was deliberately injured last night, the one who
must stay away from the opera house.”

“Then
it's okay for me to be a coward?” she shot back. “But how can I possibly avoid
my fate, assuming
my
number is up? For all your philosophizing, you bend
and twist your perspective to suit your peculiar whims!”

He
frowned.

She
pressed her palm to the lapel of his suit. “Jacques, there might be another
way.”

“What
do you mean?”

“The
kaleidoscope,” she continued with excitement. “What if we could go through it
together?”

He
eyed her in perplexity. “But how?”

She
shook her head. “I'm not sure how! I just know it happens, it works, that the
kaleidoscope takes me back and forth in time. We might go through it together.”

He
pulled her close.
“Non, chérie.
I do not trust this kaleidoscope. I fear
it could take you away from me again, that this time I might lose you forever.”

“But
if we could go through it together, then we'd both be safe in the present, and
I could be with Gran.”

Jacques
considered her suggestion for a moment, then shook his head. “Bella, from what
I've heard about your present, I wouldn't want to live there. I must agree with
your father. The world you describe has lost its soul.”

“Then
where does that leave us, Jacques?”

He
sighed. “You really want to go back to your grandmother, don't you?”

“I'm
worried about her.”

“You
will leave me, then?”

Spotting
the anxiety and yearning in his eyes, Bella sighed. “If you're determined to
see this drama through, then so will I. Perhaps there's still hope that we can
ferret out the murderer before it's too late.”

“Perhaps.”
All at once Jacques laughed as fat raindrops began to pelt them. “Come along,
ma
belle.
Enough serious discussion for now. I prefer to spend the balance of
this day making love to you.”

“Now
why am I not surprised by that suggestion?” Bella quipped back, opening her
parasol.

Clasping
hands, they ran eagerly for his town house.

Chapter Thirty-six

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“Bella,
I wish you would reconsider and not perform tonight.”

Moments
before the curtain was to rise that evening, Bella was astounded when Jacques
burst into the dressing room that Bella shared with Helene. The two women were
seated at the dressing table, putting the finishing touches to their coiffures
and makeup. They exchanged amused glances at Jacques's unheralded arrival.

“Jacques,
have you ever heard of knocking?” Bella protested. “We could have been
dressing, for heaven's sake.”

Undaunted,
he advanced toward her, his arms akimbo, and laughter shining in his dark eyes.
“We're all friends here,
n'est ce pas?”

“Jacques
isn't one to ask a woman's permission,” chimed in Helene drolly.

“Indeed,”
he agreed with a chuckle. He turned sternly to Bella. “Now,
chérie . . .
will you kindly make me a very happy man and refrain from participating
tonight?”

Bella
shot him a defiant glance. “I've already given you my answer. If you perform, I
perform.”

He
gestured helplessly to Helene. “What can I do with this stubborn girl?”

“Oh,
I imagine you've some ideas,” Helene retorted.

Jacques
shook a fist at Bella. “You shall pay the price for your defiance when we're
alone.”

“Jacques!”
Bella cried. “You're scandalizing Helene.”

“Nonsense,”
he replied, grinning at Helene. “She knows what's going on between us—don't
you,
ma petite?”

Helene
laughed. “Let's just say Tommy isn't complaining because we have the apartment
to ourselves most nights now.”

Bella
glowered at her friend. “Traitor!” She turned imperiously to Jacques. “Now
leave us and let us get ready.”

“I
give up.” He slanted Bella a final, severe glance. “Promise me you'll take
extra care tonight.”

“Promise
me.”

Jacques
waved a hand. “Woman, you are making me demented! You must promise first.”

“I
promise. And you?”

“I
promise,” he growled. Kissing Bella's cheek, Jacques strode out.

The
two women burst into laughter. “I'm sorry about the intrusion, Helene,” said
Bella.

“Don't
be silly,” Helene replied, dabbing on rouge. “Jacques is a rascal, but he's
great fun.”

“I'm
worried to death about him,” Bella said feelingly.

“About
him?” gasped Helene. “You're the one who took that bad fall last night.”

“I
know.”

“Any
thoughts on who might be trying to sabotage you?”

Bella
shook her head. “No, but it could well be one of the many women in love with
Jacques.”

“I
agree. Are you sure you should be performing tonight?”

“Yes.
You see, Jacques is the one in real danger, not me.”

“How
can you know that?”

“I
just know.”

***

Bella
felt tense throughout that evening's performance. She knew tonight was not the
night Jacques would supposedly be murdered, but she worried about him
nonetheless. And, despite her concern over Gran, she fretted that she might be
snatched back to the present very close to the time when Jacques would need her
most.

About
two-thirds of the way through the program, during a scene change, Bella was
carefully navigating across the back of the stage when she was startled to hear
the sound of a pistol being fired! She froze in place; horrified cries rang out
from both the stage and the audience as the lights were raised. In dread, Bella
glanced toward center stage. Jacques stood with a hand on his arm, his sleeve
blotched with blood, his features ashen! Her heart crashed in fear, and nausea
threatened to choke her. Their gazes met—hers stark with terror, his filled
with shock and bewilderment.

She
rushed to his side and touched his arm. “Jacques, my God, who could have . . .
? Are you all right?”