That did it. They became rough. The hands on her breasts did not caress fondly, they squeezed. Her derriere was not stroked. It was pinched. Brady was the first one to cover her body with his own. He was poised above her. His face was angry. “So this how you want it, darling? Never let it be said that H. Craig Brady failed to give a lady exactly what she wanted.”
Her body was ready for him, but still she was not prepared for the way with which he violated her, continuing on for what seemed an endless eternity. André, who was kneeling beside them, was roughly pawing Kristin’s body.
It was what she secretly wanted. She wanted them to hate her, though she knew that was not possible. But their forcefulness came close to sating her need, and she lay there as the two men abused her, used her to satisfy their animal needs. Pleasure and excitement raced through her, mingling with her self-hatred. André spoke a moment later while thrusting into her. “I never thought of you this way, chérie,” he said sadly.
“That’s because you’re stupid, Frenchman.”
He pushed hard into her, hurting as well as pleasuring her.
“Stupid,” she said again, inviting the pain once more. He did not respond similarly this time though. He realized he was dealing with a girl who had emotional problems and was not accountable for her actions. The wind whistled around her, the night sky and the steel girders surrounded her. The assault on her body went on and on....
CHAPTER 27
The days blended into each other an endless procession of parties and romantic interludes with the famous and powerful and rich. Kristin resided at the Ritz Hotel when she was not staying at some playboy prince’s chateau, or business tycoon’s country estate.
She wanted for nothing, particularly not money. When Sean had finally agreed to leave her, he had returned to the Kristy in New York. He had consented to buy out Kristin’s half interest. He had repainted the ship’s exterior and redecorated the interior to change it so there would be no constant reminders of Kristin’s presence to haunt and torture him. Kristin’s share of the ship’s cumulative net profits came to an amazing sum: over $200,000. She was a wealthy, beautiful young American in Paris now, and the world was at her beckon.
And she hated every minute of it.
She rose in the afternoon and had her breakfast brought in to her on a sterling silver tray, with flowers in a vase. She spent some afternoons on the Riviera, or sailing with one of her several eager escorts. Evenings would be spent at the opera or the theater or a gala ball. Sometimes she patronized small cafes on the Left Bank, where she was a welcome friend to the group of international writers, artists and musicians who met there.
She drank frequently, and even when she was not drunk, she acted as if she were: fast paced, laughing at everything, taking nothing seriously. She had a reputation as a sharp-tongued, witty, decadent woman who was burning her candle at both ends. The fast living idle rich of Europe loved being around her. She was the darling of the Continent. Others who were more perceptive about human nature kept their distance. They seemed to expect Kristin to blow up like a bomb, without warning, at any given second.
She was in her huge bed now, her head and back propped up by giant pillows against the headboard. She sipped her espresso, which was laced with cognac, and gazed out the very large windows, which had been opened by the maid. It was two o’clock in the afternoon, and it was too bright out. She hated the sunshine. She preferred overcast, gloomy days. They suited her mood better. Fortunately, it was not as bright as it had been earlier. That was why she had deliberately slept so late. Her habit was to party until dawn, then go to bed around six o’clock, when the rest of the world was awakening. That allowed her to sleep through the hottest part of the day.
She put her espresso down and picked up the mail that had come to her at the hotel. Most of it was pleas from various acquaintances, begging her to favor them with an engagement for one evening or another. She tossed them aside. She never answered letters of this sort. Everything she did was done on the spur of the moment. Let these eager suitors propose a rendezvous to her at a party or on the street, in person, and then she would consider it.
The last letter she picked up was from Sean McShane. Kristin wanted to crumple up the letter and toss it aside. Sean was from her past life. She didn’t want to think of him now or have anything to do with him. She harbored such mixed feelings about him! On the one hand, she felt that he had let her down in the one area where she needed him most. He had not been man enough to give her what she needed or to even realize what she needed. On the other hand, she hated herself for having hurt him so badly.
And he had been hurt badly. He had watched her wild behavior for as long as he could bear it, trying to reason with her, even trying to plead with her toward the end. He had tried to bring her back to her senses, but he had not been able to penetrate her thick shell of self-loathing. Finally, deeply saddened and frustrated, he realized that he would not be able to make her change. Whatever it was she needed now, Sean knew, he was not the one who could provide it. He had left Europe and returned to take over the running of the Kristy, which they had left in the hands of Captain Logan.
Kristin had told him not to come to Paris with her! She’d warned him. She knew this would happen. Well, the only good that came of it was that he had at last accepted the truth: A life between them, at this point, was not destined to be.
She tore open the letter now and read it, reaffirming that he really did finally see the light.
Kristy, lass,
I may not be able to have you the way I want you.But know this: Whenever you need me, I’ll be there. I’ll always be there when you need me.
Love, Sean
She put the letter aside. The white-and-gold telephone at her bedside rang. She reached over and picked the handset up off the hook. It was one of the newer models, with the speaking and receiving ends both on the same instrument. “Allo?” she said in French.
“Hello, luv,” said Brady’s cheery voice. He and André had recovered from their shock at her that night at the Eiffel Tower and had since become even more devoted to her . . . hoping, she knew, for an opportunity at an encore.
“Hello, Craig. Where are you?”
“Where am I? Why, in the lobby, of course! You’ve got a date to go motoring with André and me. We’re going to picnic in the countryside and then, if we feel like it, press on to Belgium to visit Leo in his castle. Don’t tel! me you forgot?”
“I forgot.”
Brady snorted into the phone with a wounded laugh. “A lot that says about how much you care for me now, doesn’t it?” If he was expecting her to apologize, he was disappointed.
“Yes, doesn’t it,” she said absently, pouring more cognac into her espresso. “Well, come on up if you want, both of you. I don’t mind going motoring. I’ve nothing else to do. At least nothing I can remember.” She frowned. “What was it you gave me to drink last night, anyway? Everything from midnight on is a total blank.”
He laughed merrily. “Well, I’ll have to remember to give it to you again then, won’t I? Be up in a flash, darling. Oh, wait, I almost forgot. Someone’s been inquiring about you. Quite a respectable personality, if I do say so myself.”
“Really? Who?” Brady was such a prominent personality himself, and he mingled with so many others of the highest social class, that for him to remark favorably upon a man’s status was very impressive. Kristin’s curiosity was piqued.
“One of the great heroes of the war. Man named Hunter. Ex-major in the American Flying Corps.” He paused. There was absolute silence on Kristin’s end of the line. “André and I are on our way,” he said.
“No, wait!” she said, but it was too late. Brady had hung up.
Five minutes later, when they arrived, they were surprised to see Kristin almost fully dressed. She was bustling around, putting the finishing touches to her makeup. Every other time they had come up to her room in the early afternoon, they had found her still in her nightgown and in bed.
Except for one time, after a particularly boisterous night, when they had found her still dressed in the clothing she had worn back to the hotel the night before: the full-dress uniform of the German baron she had been with.
“Hurry, we have to go,” she said, stuffing a few articles into an overnight bag.
André said in good-natured surprise, “Chérie, we have the whole day and night ahead of us. And week and month and year, for that matter! What is the rush?”
“I want to get out of here. I don’t know what you two told Dallas Hunter, but—”
“We told him nothing!” protested André. “Neither of us has even seen the man.”
“That’s right, luv. I only heard about him from your friend the baron, who said he called this morning asking about you.”
“Oh, no! Then he must know I’m staying at the hotel here! Let’s get out of here, now!”
They both looked surprised at such a reaction from her. Until now, almost nothing had been able to penetrate her armor of non-concern. To Brady, it seemed amazing that any man could cause her such alarm. “What is he to you? This Hunter chap.”
“A man I hate and never want to see. Ever!” She thrust her overnight bag into his stomach, making him grasp it and knocking him breathless. Then she started for the door. The two men followed after her. They looked at each other as they waited for the elevator in the plushly carpeted hall. André shrugged in an exaggerated way.
There was silence on the way down. When they reached the bottom, Kristin refused to walk out into the lobby until André first checked it out. The Frenchman stepped out, looked around, turned back to her and said, “The coast is clear, as I believe your American gangsters say in the movies.”
Kristin hurried out. She went to the reception desk, not to the street exit, where André’s French-made Hispano-Suiza touring car waited. She addressed the clerk behind the desk sharply, leaving no doubt she meant business. “If a man named Dallas Hunter comes inquiring about me, tell him I’m not staying here. Tell him I checked out yesterday, and you don’t expect me back. Is that clear?”
“Oui, madame. Most certainly.” He was intimidated by her fire.
Kristin waited until André scouted the sidewalk beyond the doors, then she hurried out into the waiting car. As they sped away, Brady, who was sitting in the touring seat facing Kristin, looked intrigued. “I say, old man,” he said to André, though still looking at Kristin. “Tell me, what do we know about this Dallas Hunter chap? Obviously we’re not going to get anything out of her. So let’s pool our own resources and see what we come up with.”
“He’s the aviator who boomed General Wolfschmidt’s headquarters during the war,” said André, impressed “He was shot down by Baron Richtofen himself, the Red Baron. Later, during Verdun, he flew twenty continuous sorties in support of the ground troops against the fiercest enemy air concentration of the war. He was engaged in dogfights against three German Fokkers at once.
“Shot down again, wasn’t he? I seem to recall something like that. I know he got the Distinguished Flying Cross as one of our ace Yankee aviators.
“More than only your DFC,” said André, his voice full of respect. Kristin had never heard him speak so highly of anyone. Usually he was flippant and quick to condemn those who had earned social approval. “This Major Hunter, he was awarded the Croix de Guerre after the war, by General Pétain.” André then turned to Kristin. “Is this the same Dallas Hunter who is asking after you?”
“There’s only one Dallas Hunter,” she said. Immediately after saying it, she felt embarrassed about admitting she felt this way.
Brady was more intrigued than ever. Kristin could almost see his novelist’s mind clicking away with possibilities, creating plots and subplots based on her reluctance to talk about Hunter.
“You shameless exploiter,” she accused. “If I find myself in one of your novels, I’ll come after you.” Brady smiled charmingly. “Darling, how could you not find your way into one? You’re not just a woman, you’re an experience. I owe it to the world to—”
“Oh, keep still.” She looked out the window, trying to turn her attention away from the problem presented by Hunter’s arrival in France. She could not avoid thinking of it though. She would have to deal with it. If she didn’t take steps to avoid him, he would find her. And that was something she did not want.
Outside the car windows were lush green fields. They were out of the city now and moving through the countryside. Kristin had an idea. “André, your friend Leo. Would he let me stay in his castle in Belgium?”
“Let you stay? Chérie, you’ll be lucky if Craig and I manage to tear you away once you’re inside the place. Count Leo is a notorious womanizer.”
Brady studied Kristin’s thoughtful expression. He could almost see the gears spinning about in her head. “You’re thinking of hiding out with Leo to avoid this Hunter chap?” He smiled, enchanted with the novelty of the idea. “André, just imagine! We have here a girl who is pulling the exact reversal of the usual fairy tale. She is running from the brave, handsome hero into the arms of a lecherous old ogre.” He laughed merrily. “Why, it’s like Little Red Riding Hood courting the big bad wolf.”
André shrugged. He was becoming bored with the subject. Returning to something that never failed to hold his interest, he put his hand casually on Kristin’s knee. When she did not slap it away, he began slowly, casually working his way up under her skirt. Brady watched his progress with interest.
Kristin absently pushed his hand away when he became too bold. André sighed with exasperated disappointment, put his hands into his lap and began twiddling his thumbs.
They arrived at the count’s castle by nightfall. It was an old-fashioned castle built of stone on a hill, left over from the days of the feudal lords. It looked ancient and drafty, and once inside, Kristin learned that only a small portion of it was inhabitable. There was a scullery, a living room/dining room, Leo’s master bedroom quarters and one guest room. Count Leo Heinrich was from a once-wealthy family that had fallen financially. He had a decent amount to live on without having to work, but he could afford only three or four servants, and he hadn’t yet come up with the funds needed to refurbish the castle.
“Ah, my friends,” said Heinrich in greeting. “How good of you to come visit me. And you bring with you the famous—or should I say infamous—Kristin Fleming.” He bowed to Kristin from the waist. “Charmed, my dear. An honor and a privilege.”
Kristin nodded. She was in a sullen mood.
The big-bodied, balding Heinrich clapped his hands together, and several servants appeared. One was the butler, who would serve the meal. Another was the grounds keeper, named Krakow, a cruel-faced, bony man who, Kristin learned, had the task of keeping the townspeople off the estate. During the war Heinrich had accommodated the Germans openly, believing they were destined to win. This caused bad feelings between himself and the townspeople. In addition, many of the townspeople disputed Heinrich’s right to the castle, saying his family had lost the title long ago. Krakow was sometimes called upon to disperse small groups of peasants who came to the castle with angry demands.
“Now we feast,” said the count in a jovial voice that did little to hide the streak of bitter resentfulness Kristin detected in him. “A special repast to welcome the three of you. Afterward ... perhaps we shall party?” He looked eagerly at Kristin.
Kristin turned to André, thinking that he must have related the episode at the Eiffel Tower to their host for Heinrich to think he could expect anything from her tonight. “Kiss and tell, André, is that your style?” She asked.
André put his fingertips to his chest in a defensive, indignant manner. “Chérie, I swear! How could you accuse me of such a thing?”
She said nothing. She glanced at Brady, but she did not really suspect him. He was the sort who would write about the incident in his novels but would never blab about it to his friends. She frowned. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. All that mattered was that sh
e would have to stay here for a while with this unpleasant former aristocrat, at least until Hunter gave up his search for her and left Europe. She ate her dinner in silence, then asked Heinrich if she could stay in his guest room.
“But, of course! I’d be delighted to have you. In fact, I was hoping you’d wish to stay the night.”
“Good. I intend to sleep. The door has a bolt?”
He looked angry for a second, and then tried to disguise his anger with a look of wounded pride. “You certainly won’t need one. But, yes, it does. The old-fashioned sort from the eighteenth century. It pulls down to block shut the entire frame.” He grinned across the table at André and Brady. “In case either of your friends has any less-than-honorable intent, you should forgive the suggestion.”
“I certainly will not,” declared André, standing up from the table. “How dare you say such a thing? I demand a retraction.”
Heinrich stood up to his full height, his physical bulk very imposing. He looked at André with menacing eyes. “Yes?”
“Well, actually, I forgive you fully,” said André, who sat down quickly. Brady laughed uproariously at the show of false bravery, the bluff that was called. Heinrich smiled broadly, showing that he, too, had been only playacting. André, relieved, lifted his wine glass. “To the streak of magnificent cowardice that runs through my family, and has all through the ages. Which, thank God, is responsible for my family’s surviving all through the ages.”
“Hear, hear,” said Brady, clinking his glass with his friend’s in toast. Everyone drank but Kristin. “You know,” Brady said to her, “André is one of the truly dedicated cowards of all time. Most common cowards, they forsook their cowardice when France was invaded in the war and took up arms. But not our friend André. Even through the thickest storm of protest and through the howls of outraged indignation, he stood his cowardly ground. Refused to serve. Had his position as assistant administrator to his family’s department-store chain declared vital to the war effort.”
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