Sins of Omission. Fern Michaels

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СКАЧАТЬ He’d died exactly as he’d always hoped he would.

      Each time Michelene spent a franc, each time she took a new lover or performed a good deed, she knew that Jacques, wherever he was, approved. Marchioness Michelene Fonsard never looked back, nor did she look ahead. And she lived each day fully, as though it could very well be her last. If nothing else, she considered herself a happy woman.

      Soon she would be happier. There would be a young, hard body in her bed. She was happy that Daniel could be ministered to in a warm, loving atmosphere. Naturally she’d realized the way to get to Reuben was through his protectiveness for his friend. Such attention would win his gratitude, but humility…Ah, that was a different matter entirely. With her experience, she knew Reuben, young though he was, was not like all the others. This one, she mused, was a cut above the rest.

      Madame Mickey had never been in love. She’d cared deeply for Jacques, of that she had no doubt. But so often of late, with death and suffering all around her, she wondered if she would ever truly experience that much talked and written about euphoria of being in love. Sometimes she ached for that warmth when her passions were spent and her lover rolled over to drift off to sleep.

      In so many ways Reuben Tarz was a boy. Yet when those boys came out of the war they were men—men in the world of men, but boys in the ways of a woman and the boudoir. Her mission—and she accepted it gladly—was to make a man of Reuben. When they went their separate ways, Reuben would be a man to be reckoned with. She would instill in him a sense of confidence, integrity, loyalty, and motivation. And—equally important—she would teach him that whatever he wanted was within his grasp. All these qualities she admired in men, knowing she possessed each of them herself. As for social polish, Reuben had much to learn, of course, but she knew he would be a quick study. The proper haircut, the right tailor, exposure to correct etiquette, and he would be magnificent.

      In the early days of her marriage, while they waited for the grapes to ripen, Jacques had taught Mickey languages and geography; she had a natural ear for one and a thirst for the other. Now she could converse easily in seven languages, and her favorite, after her own native tongue, was English.

      What wonderful plans she had for Reuben! She’d motor to Paris with him and show him her beautiful house, where Jacques liked to play after the first planting of the young vines. Reuben would love Paris, especially when this damn war was over and things returned to normal. General Pershing had confided to her personally that they were only weeks away from an armistice, but she needed no confirmation that the Germans would be suppressed. From the beginning, Michelene had every faith in her countrymen and the Allied forces, and that life would always go on as it had: wonderful, beautiful, and pleasurable.

      Her mind, agile as always, devised a series of divertissements to please the senses and delight the soul. The Loire River, the only true French river, would be of interest to Reuben. The Mer de Glace would be a must. She’d introduce him to the Matterhorn and Mont Blanc. A two-or three-hour drive with picnic baskets to Rouen to see the quaint, gabled houses and the crooked streets would be another treat. The cave at Peche-Merle on the Sange River—now a chapel—would add to Reuben’s French education. And she must not forget the Cathedral of Notre Dame. Her second favorite spot was the site of Grosse Horloge, the big clock whose single hand had told time for more than four hundred years.

      Michelene Fonsard’s long, tapered fingers tapped the steering wheel impatiently. Her thighs tingled and tightened when she saw Reuben, accompanied by Daniel, approach the Citroën. Her smile embraced them, warmed them like a cloak as she settled them into the backseat. On the way home she kept up a running commentary on the conditions of the war whenever they asked specifics; otherwise she kept the conversation light and vivacious, telling them funny little tales of the villagers near her château and the eccentric ways of her friend, the curé.

      Daniel loved listening to her and complimented her on her exquisite English, but while they both were amused by her little stories, it was news of the war and the German advance that occupied their thoughts. The frequent German raids and intensified activity all along the front in the north of France indicated that a great German offensive was close at hand. The French thought the Allies would be able to hold without difficulty until the Americans could gain position and provisions. Provisions…That was the key word in this chaos. With all of America’s wealth, manpower, and ability, there was still the inescapable fact that the great country had been totally unprepared for war. American forces had been confronted by the mighty German military offense and compelled to stand by almost helpless and see the Allies suffer unspeakable losses. Provisions, the lack of them, the inability to move them across France to where they were needed most, could be their undoing.

      “Mon Dieu! I am sorry!” Madame Mickey’s apology broke into the worried thoughts of her two passengers. “This road is abominable, so rutted and bumpy. It is beyond repair, I am afraid. All the young men are gone from the village; there is no one to repair it. Hold tight to the straps, it gets worse before it gets better.” Her voice in melodious apology held a chuckle.

      A flock of scrawny winter birds took flight, seeking refuge in the bare branches of the trees as the Citroën chugged along. Overhead the sky was heavy with angry clouds. Daylight was fading, bleeding into night. Reuben sat beside Daniel, bundled in thick lap robes. Mickey had the headlamps on now, their eerie light casting long shadows onto the road. The drive from the clinic was longer than he’d expected. For some reason, he’d thought the château was no more than a few miles away. Already they’d been driving for almost two hours. Now, more than before, he appreciated the woman’s generosity and dedication in visiting the hospital.

      “Here we are,” Mickey announced as she turned the car and continued driving down a side road that was bumpier than the last. “We’re on my property now and the château is still quite a few minutes from here. Tomorrow, in the light, I will show you the boundaries from the top floor. The view is magnifique and one can see for miles.”

      Both Reuben and Daniel craned to get a good look as they caught sight of the impressive estate Mickey was fast approaching. Daniel’s thoughts turned inward. Just another short while and he could rest. In the trenches, at the front, he’d been bone tired, but it couldn’t compare with the exhaustion he was feeling now. The concern for his eyesight, the pain of his broken shoulder, the grim uncertainty of the future, and the possibility of having to return to the front—all had taken their toll on him. Such exquisite relief he felt, to know he wouldn’t be blind; he felt as though he could sleep for a week. Surely his company would not be missed this evening if he asked to retire early. Reuben would entertain Madame Mickey. A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. When would Reuben have time for French lessons?

      Reuben’s thoughts turned inward: What would be expected of him?

      “We have arrived, my darlings,” Madame Mickey announced gaily as she brought the Citroën to a stop. “When you are fully recovered, Reuben, we will begin the driving lessons.”

      Reuben felt a moment of sheer panic, the same immobilizing fear he’d experienced when at eight years old he was caught stealing apples from the neighborhood greengrocer in Brooklyn.

      “Come, come, I want to show you my home. Reuben, help Daniel. He appears tired, pauvre petit. We must get both of you indoors and into warm, dry clothing.” Her eyes were on Reuben the entire time she spoke. “Chéri, you are limping. It is the cold,” she advised. “A warm bath, warm clothes, dinner, and a nice fire and you will be fixed. No? We will have soft music—Brahms, I think. I will play the pianoforte for you. If you beg, I might even sing.”

      “I’d like that,” Daniel said wearily.

      Reuben smiled. “So would I.”

      “It is settled, then. Come, come, I, too, have the chill.”

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