Where the Heart Chooses Page 13

His son was very charming and his daughter very pretty, and while I toured the buildings and sampled the wines, they showed Quinton their stable.

  M. Bauchet beamed when I praised his wines. “Perhaps Madame would care to stay for the wine festival?” he suggested.

  “That’s very kind of you. I’d like that. Although…”

  “Quel est-il?”

  “My son has to return to the States for classes.”

  “There is no need for you to leave, though, is there?”

  “Well…” It would be nice to stay for that. I smiled at him. “I’ll give it some thought.”

  * * * *

  Quinton and I were at our hotel later that evening, and I brought up the possibility of staying with the Bauchets.

  “I’d…I’d like that, Mother.” He peered at me through the lock of hair that tumbled over his forehead. I brushed it out of his eyes. He was so like his father. “If it wouldn’t inconvenience you?”

  “Not at all.” It would be good for my son to develop connections of his own. And Anastasie was very pretty. “I’ll inform M. Bauchet tomorrow.”

  * * * *

  We were there about a week when M. Bauchet received a message from the manager of his vineyard in Bordeaux.

  “Merde! Excusez-moi, madame. Duran has found bois noir on the chardonnay grapes. I must go.”

  “Of course.”

  “Madame my wife and Anastasie will come with me. Anastasie wishes to see a neighbor boy, you understand.”

  “Yes.” I hoped Quinton wouldn’t be too heartbroken that the girl preferred someone else to him, however misguided that was. “We’ll return to our hotel—”

  “Mais non! Perhaps you would care to accompany us? The merlot from last year’s harvest is ready to be uncorked.”

  “That’s very kind of you. I remember the merlot from ‘67 was excellent, and I’ll be interested in sampling this lot. Quinton—”

  “Oh, please, Madame Mann!” Armand exclaimed. “I’ll be here. Please let Quinton stay also! Papa often leaves the vineyard in my care when he’s called away.”

  “That’s a good deal of responsibility for someone your age.” Armand was seventeen, two years older than Quinton.

  “You needn’t worry about your son,” M. Bauchet assured me. “Armand is very capable, and Quinton will be safe in his care.”

  “May I, Mother?”

  Quinton was very contained—after all, he was the son of Mr. Freeze and his ice queen—and others wouldn’t see it, but I did. He was drawn to Armand, not Anastasie.

  I thought of my attraction to Folana, all those years ago. Why limit yourself? The realm of sensuality should be boundless.

  “Of course you may, Quinton.”

  * * * *

  Quinton returned home, an air of happiness fizzing around him. Ah, young love. It was so wonderful.

  Although not as wonderful as if you were blessed to find lasting love. I thought of Nigel. The ache was fading, but I still missed him terribly.

  It was just after the wine festival, and while I had returned to La Vigne d’un Dieu, it was time for me to leave. Crates containing bottles of red wines, white wines, sparkling wines, were already in transit to the house in Great Falls.

  Perhaps I’d ask M. Bauchet if he would permit Armand to return to the States with me for a month or so. If it worked out, I might ask M. Bauchet if Armand might be permitted to attend school with Quinton.

  I was in the midst of packing when there was a tap on my door. “Oui?”

  “Madame, you’re wanted on the telephone.” It was Armand.

  “Merci.” I went down to the library, where M. Bauchet had the telephone, and picked up the receiver. “Mme. Mann ici.”

  “Portia, it’s Bryan.”

  “What’s wrong? Quinton?” My son was staying with Bryan and his wife and stepchildren until I returned.

  “No, he’s fine. It’s your idiot of an older brother. Jefferson didn’t make his rendezvous point. He’s been out of contact for the past week. I’m at Langley coordinating his retrieval, but I thought you’d better know.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  He went on to tell me what details he had.

  “What can I do?”

  “Nothing. It’s too dangerous. And besides, you’re there in Avignon.”

  “Thanks for taking the time to let me know. How are Mother and Father dealing with this?”

  “Mother is holding together. Father is furious. He blames Hazelton. I’m not sure that I don’t blame Hazelton as well. He should have retired five years ago.” Hazelton had been the director for the past fifteen years. “I’ve got to go, Portia. Tony just walked in.”

  “God bless, Bryan.” This did not look good at all if my oldest brother felt the need to be available.

  “Madame, is everything all right?” Armand stood there. He had dark gypsy looks, but I didn’t have time to appreciate what my son saw in him.

  “I need to make a long-distance phone call. I’ll reimburse you, of course.”

  “Not at all, Madame.”

  I put through a call to MI5. Sir Joseph Bowne had retired, but Folana had given me another contact.

  “Mr. Trevalyan’s office. Travers speaking.”

  “This is Portia Mann, Miss Travers. I’d like to speak to Mr. Trevalyan if he’s available.” I murmured a few words that should get my call patched straight through to him. Which it did.

  “Portia. How nice to hear from you!” a smooth baritone greeted me.

  “Thank you, James. I’m sorry to call. I need to—”Armand was lingering by the window, and I switched to Russian, knowing that Trevalyan was as fluent as I was. “Jefferson’s gone missing in Eastern Europe. I need to contact Folana Fournaise.”

  “What information do you have?”

  I gave him what I knew. I’d met him during my season in London, but beyond that, my brother Jefferson vouched for him.

  “I’ll see she gets the message.”

  “Thank you.”

  I disconnected the call, then dialed the Marseille-Marignane Airport and made arrangements to fly out of France as soon as possible.

  * * * *

  As I reached for the last of my suitcases, a masculine hand seized the grip and pulled it off the belt.

  “Good evening, Portia.”

  “Gregor. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  “I’ve got the weekend off.”

  “And you just happened to be passing through Baltimore?”

  He grinned at me. “Alyona called and let me know you were coming home. I had nothing special to do, so I thought I’d drive down.” He stacked my suitcases on a trolley and nodded toward the exit. “How was your flight?”

  “Rocky.” Quite a few passengers resorted to the airsick bags as the Air France jet rose and fell like a rollercoaster. For the first time in the years since I’d given them up, I’d craved a Pall Mall.

  “I’m parked over here.” He opened the rear passenger door and then went to the trunk, and while he loaded my suitcases, I shut the passenger door and got into the front seat. He paused for a moment before sliding into the seat beside me. “Alyona’s not gonna be happy.”

  “Just tell her I couldn’t wait for the heater to warm the backseat.”

  “Portia, she does know it’s the beginning of September. And if you tell her you caught a chill, she’ll have you tucked in bed with a heating pad and a hot water bottle.”

  “I’ll just have to make sure she doesn’t see me. Gregor, you heard about Jeff?”

  “Yes. I’ve actually been vetted to your family if you have need of me. I know Quinn’s at Bryan’s. We can stop there on the way home.”

  “That’s an excellent idea.” Why hadn’t I thought of it?

  It didn’t take long before Gregor was pulling up at the curb before the house my brother shared with his wife.

  “Wait here, all right, Gregor?”

  “You won’t get an argument from me.” He’d met Johanna when Nigel and I had ho
sted a dinner party to celebrate one of Bryan’s promotions, and she’d treated him like a servant. When Bryan had mildly corrected her, she’d spent the remainder of the evening pouting and ignoring Gregor.

  I let myself out of the car, went up the walk to the front door, and pressed the doorbell. The chimes rang out—such a lovely sound—but no one answered. The house was lit up, so I knew someone was at home, and I pressed the bell again.

  “What?” The door was yanked open. Johanna’s youngest, Billy, stood there. “Oh. Aunt Portia. What do you want?”

  “I want to be invited in.”

  He flushed. “Sorry.” He stood aside and let me in. “Um…why are you here?” He frowned. “Aren’t you supposed to be in France?”

  “I was. Now I’m home. I came to pick up Quinton.”

  “Oh, shit!” he said sotto voce. “Let me get Mom.” He ran up the stairs to the second floor. In a matter of minutes he returned. “Uh…Mom can’t come down just now.”

  “That’s all right. I don’t need to see her. Please tell Quinton I’m here to take him home, so he’ll have to pack.”

  “Uh…that’s the thing. He’s not here.”

  “Where is he?” I was starting to get a headache.

  “He’s gone home. Something’s up with Libby, and Mom put Quinn in a cab to the bus depot.”

  “She sent my son away without even bothering to make sure he arrived at the bus depot safely?”

  He shrugged. “Like I said, Mom was busy with my sister, and she didn’t have time for a visitor.”

  “Who happens to be her husband’s nephew. When?”

  “Uh…” He shrugged again. “This morning, I guess.”

  There was a telephone in the parlor, and I stalked away from Billy and into that room. After a few rings, Alyona picked up. “Mann residence.”

  “It’s Portia. Has Quinton arrived?”

  “Yes, missus, about hour ago.”

  “Thank you. I’m here in Baltimore with Gregor. We’ll be home in about an hour.”

  “Okay. We see you then.”

  I hung up and turned to my brother’s stepson. “Give your mother a message for me, Billy. She’s damned lucky Quinton made it home safely. If anything had happened to him, the fact that she’s married to Bryan wouldn’t have kept me from taking her apart one piece at a time.”

  “A-aunt Portia?” The color leached out of his cheeks and his eyes almost bulged out of his head.

  I turned and walked out. Gregor was lounging against his Crown Victoria, and he straightened when he saw me.

  “Portia?” He was obviously confused, since Quinton wasn’t with me.

  “That…that…” I swallowed the epithet, although it nearly killed me. “Quinton’s in Great Falls. She sent him home by himself. On the bus.”

  “Bitch.” He blushed and cleared his throat. “Sorry. I meant to say witch.”

  “You had it right the first time, although frankly that’s an insult to female dogs. Let’s go home.”

  * * * *

  I yanked open the front door of our home in Great Falls and rushed inside. “Quinton!”

  “Mother!” He threw himself into my arms.

  “You’re all right?” I brushed that lock of hair out of his eyes.

  “Yes, I’m fine. Uncle Jeff?”

  “I still haven’t heard anything.”

  “I wish there was something I could do.”

  “There is. You can assure me no one tried to…lure you into the restroom of the bus depot.” Yes, he knew how to defend himself, but I was more worried someone would try to persuade him that something was wrong and they were there to take him home.

  “No, Mother. The bus ride was uneventful.” He grinned but then became serious. “I took a cab home from the bus depot. I…I hope you don’t mind. Alyona had to pay the driver.”

  “We’ll make sure you have spare cash on you from now on.”

  “Portia, I’ll take your suitcases up to your suite.”

  “Thank you, Gregor.”

  He paused long enough to ruffle Quinton’s hair. “Anybody try to give you a hard time on the bus?”

  “No, Gregor. My virtue is intact.” At those words he blushed bright scarlet, but I pretended I didn’t see. I wasn’t about to tease him over what he might have done with Armand.

  “Glad I don’t have to beat up anyone.” Gregor took two suitcases under his arms, caught the handles of the other two, and went up the stairs.

  “I’ll give you a hand, Gregor,” Quinton called after him.

  “Just a second, Quinton. What happened at Uncle Bryan’s?”

  He sighed. “Libby got expelled from Tidewater and Aunt Johanna is having the vapors over it.”

  I echoed his sigh. When Libby had learned I’d graduated from the prestigious girl’s preparatory school, she’d pleaded with me to pull whatever strings I could to get her in. I’d done it for my brother. Johanna hadn’t been pleased, but Libby had talked her around.

  “With Uncle Bry at Langley because Uncle Jeff is missing, I was the last person Aunt Johanna wanted around. She told me to get packed and called me a cab.” He touched my arm and offered me a smile. “Please don’t tell Uncle Bryan. He’s got enough on his plate right now.”

  He went out to get the rest of my bags, and I stared down at my hands, which were clenched into fists.

  “Missus?”

  “Yes, Alyona?”

  “I make tea. You come and have some. Many good people looking for Mr. Jefferson. They find him and bring him home.”

  “Yes, of course.” I followed her into the kitchen. Right now all we could do was wait.

  * * * *

  Chapter 15

  Mother and Father were staying at the house in Chevy Chase, and Quinton and I spent Friday with them. Father would have preferred trying to find someone who could help, but he knew better than to interfere. Quinton challenged him to a game of chess, and I took Mother shopping.

  “Do I really strike you as the sort of woman who can be distracted by clothes when my son could well be dead?”

  “Not in the least, Mother, but I thought it would help pass the time.”

  “Would you…would you mind stopping by St. Joshua’s?”

  “Of course not.” The little chapel was dedicated to the patron saint of spies and intelligence agents. I found parking a block or so away, and we walked to the stonework building.

  It would be empty at this time of day, but the doors were unlocked, so we entered, and she went to the alcove where the statue of St. Joshua held pride of place. Candles formed a semi-circle around the base, most of them unlit. She took a ten dollar bill from her purse, slipped it into the box fastened to the railing, and picked up a taper.

  “Are you going to pray for your brother?”

  “Yes, Mother.” I took a bill from my wallet and followed her actions. Once the candles were lit, we knelt and folded our hands.

  After some time, she began to speak. “He was my favorite.”

  “Jefferson?” I was startled. I’d never doubted she loved us, but she’d never been one to show any emotion. “And don’t speak of him as if he’s dead.”

  “You don’t think he is?” She turned her head to look at me, and I wasn’t surprised to see her eyes were dry.

  “Until I see his body in a coffin, I’ll believe he’s alive.”

  She regarded me somberly. “Is that what you felt when you went to claim Nigel’s body?”

  “Yes. I was certain it was an insane joke. I was certain that once we arrived in Bombay, it would be to learn he’d missed the flight, or that he’d somehow managed to survive. I often dream of that day. I walk into the morgue, and the tech rolls out the body. It’s charred beyond recognition, and I say, ‘This isn’t my husband. The body is too short, too thin.’ The tech tells me it’s because of the fire. ‘No, it can’t be my husband.’ And then I hear Nigel say, ‘It’s not.’ I turn around, and he’s standing there with that lock of hair spilling into his eyes, his smile crooked.
I throw myself into his arms, wanting to kill him for giving me such a fright, wanting to kiss him because he’s alive.”

  “But of course he isn’t.”

  “No. He isn’t. And in the morning, I mourn him all over again.” I took a small handkerchief from my purse and carefully blotted my eyes and dried my cheeks.

  “You’re fortunate you had him for as long as you did.”

  “I know. This is a very dangerous business. But Nigel was out in the field only a handful of times after we married.”

  “I imagine I should be grateful this is the first time Jefferson has ever been in this situation.” Her lips tightened. “This is the first time, isn’t it? You didn’t keep something from me because you thought it wouldn’t matter?”

  “Of course not, Mother. Jefferson was very lucky.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. We hadn’t told her because Father had said she didn’t need to be disturbed with business.

  The stiffness left her shoulders. “It broke my heart when Jefferson brought Ludovic to the funeral, and I realized what those rings meant.”

  “But you like Ludovic.”

  “Yes, I do. Very much. He’s like a fourth son. But that was when I accepted that Jefferson would never give me any grandchildren.”

  “Would you want him to marry, simply for the sake of children, knowing he’d prefer a man to their mother?”

  She was silent for a long moment, and then shook her head. “It’s a difficult enough thing, marrying a Sebring. If you’re not their one, the odds of it being a happy marriage are very slim. Look at Bryan and Johanna. I wish I knew why he married her.”

  “You don’t think he loved her?”

  “No. I think he was fond enough of her to begin with, and I’d hoped they’d rub along fairly well, but I’ve seen his eyes when he doesn’t realize he’s being observed. He’s a very unhappy man.”

  “Did you know my friend Allison was attracted to him?”

  “Allison? Your TZE sister?”

  “Yes.”

  She’d asked me to have lunch with her, and over her third martini it came out that her husband was seeing another woman. It wasn’t the first time, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. For some reason, the topic of my brother came up.

  “Do you know, the first time I saw him was at your wedding. I took one look at him, and I swear I went weak in the knees.”