Sins of the Flesh

by Fern Michaels

  “I wonder if your accounting department can give me some idea of our present bank balance. I’d also like an estimate of our accounts at Morgan. Now,” Nellie said coolly, her heart thumping in her chest. Anticipation was so wonderful.

  Evans cleared his throat. “Certainly I can do that, but don’t you have your bank statements? What you’re asking will take a little time. The statements would afford you a balance to the very penny.” Something was wrong here, he could feel it. Yet the power of attorney was in order. He knew the law firm that had drawn it up and the lawyer in particular; he played bridge with the man every Saturday night.

  “I’ll wait,” Nellie said sweetly. “I have all the time in the world now that my husband has gone off to fight for his country.” With consummate delicacy, she allowed her eyes to moisten and dabbed at them with a lace-edged handkerchief.

  “Yes, well, hrumph, I’ll see what I can do,” Evans said, and shifted uncomfortably on his chair. “In the meantime I’ll have my secretary fetch you a soft drink and a magazine while I…get in touch with Mr. Bouchet’s bankers in New York.”

  “That’s so very kind of you, Mr. Evans. Philippe, in his haste to report in, forgot to give me the safe deposit key where he keeps all his papers and records. I’m sure he’ll get in touch with me as soon as he can. He was so eager to be off to defend our wonderful country that I guess it simply slipped his mind. The very last thing he begged me to do was come here today and straighten things out. It was his wish that our accounts be transferred here to make things easier for me.”

  Evans tidied up his desk and nodded limply. Good, she was throwing him for a loop, Nellie decided. His bald head was beaded with perspiration. She sighed wearily and dabbed at her eyes again.

  By the time Evans resumed his seat behind his tidy desk, she was halfway through the tattered copy of the Saturday Evening Post. Without a word he handed Nellie a slip of paper. The smoke spiraling upward from her cigarette covered the shock in her eyes. If Philippe didn’t come back, it would be all hers. “That’s more or less what I thought it was,” she said blandly.

  “There is one problem, Mrs. Bouchet,” Evans said just as blandly.

  “Oh, and what is that, Mr. Evans?” Nellie said, gathering up her purse and gloves.

  “The accounts can’t be transferred until Mr. Bouchet is twenty-one years old. You can, of course, draw from them, and if the trustees approve your withdrawals, the money will be sent on to you. They requested a copy of your power of attorney as well as your marriage license. I took the liberty of telling them your attorney would forward the documents. Is all this satisfactory?”

  Nellie sighed. “Now, Mr. Evans, this is what I want you to do. Tomorrow I want you to go to New York personally, and by the close of business on Friday I expect this account to register all of our assets. If you handle this satisfactorily,” she added pointedly, “I’ll personally see about turning over some of the studio business to your bank. And now I must be off. Thank you so much for seeing me without an appointment, Mr. Evans. I know my husband will appreciate it, and I’ll be sure to mention your cooperation when I write him this evening. Good afternoon.”

  Nellie sailed from the office with the knowledge that she was a wealthy woman—an immensely wealthy woman if Philippe didn’t return. His insurance policy alone would provide for her for the rest of her life.

  In a state of euphoria, Nellie drove home, undressed, removed her mascara, and put on a mint-green playsuit with matching skirt and white sandals. She was ready now, she told her reflection. Her destination, Reuben’s house in Laurel Canyon, where her father was probably this moment changing the bird feeders and making sure the birdbaths were full of fresh water.

  Nellie Bishop Tarz-Bouchet had learned to cry on cue at the age of six. Now she squeezed her eyes shut and willed the tears to flow. Sniffling, she rubbed her eyes. By the time she reached her father, it would look as if she’d spent the entire day weeping over Philippe’s departure.

  When she reached the mansion she ran straight to the back of the house and looked about wildly for her father. He was sitting on an iron bench under a rose trellis, a bag of birdseed at his feet and an open book on his lap. Screaming his name, she ran to him, arms outstretched. Gulping and swallowing, sobbing and coughing, she blurted out her unhappiness.

  “Honey, it’s not the end of the world,” Daniel said, stroking her sympathetically. “If you hadn’t agreed, I’m sure Philippe wouldn’t have enlisted. I’m so sorry, honey, but if, as you say, it’s what Philippe wanted, then of course, you had no other choice. He’ll come back, Nellie, I know he will. He’s Reuben’s son, and I believe he’s a survivor. Do you regret marrying so hastily, sweetheart?” Daniel crooned against her golden head.

  Nellie shook her head. “Never, Daddy. We had a few glorious days together. We discussed this for hours and hours. He was so miserable, Daddy. First he didn’t want to leave me, and then he kept talking about being a coward and not staying to fight for France. That was so terrible for him. Do you know, he actually cried in my arms. He’s been so unhappy at the studio; he hates it there. He said he wanted to make his father proud of him. And you, too, Daddy. He knows I’m proud of him no matter what he does. I…I encouraged him, even though…Oh, Daddy, I am so miserable and unhappy,” she wept. “He kept talking and telling me what to do at the studio…Oh, he gave me this.” She held out the power of attorney. “I didn’t want to take it, didn’t want him to give me this, but he absolutely insisted. He said I should tell you…tell you—” Nellie’s voice broke, and she threw herself into her father’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

  “What, Nellie? What did Philippe ask you to tell me?” Daniel said gently, his hands stroking her shoulder.

  “He said,” Nellie gulped, “to make sure I told you to send a copy of this to the bank in New York…I can’t remember the name of it…and to transfer all his holdings out here to the bank he uses. He said it can’t be done until he’s twenty-one, but that you should start the paperwork. His birthday is just two days away. Oh, Daddy, I don’t want his money, I want Philippe!” Nellie howled. “He made me promise, so…I’m telling you like I promised. I made so many promises, foolish ones. I had to for Philippe’s sake. It’s what he wanted. Oh, Daddy, do you think I can run his share of the studio? I’m so…scared. What if…what if…if Philippe doesn’t come back? I can’t eat, I can’t think, all I do is think about Philippe.”

  “Shhh, don’t cry, honey, everything is going to be fine,” Daniel reassured her. “We’ll take it one day at a time. In the meantime, I want you to move back here with me so you won’t be alone.”

  “I can’t do that, Daddy. I promised Philippe that I would be brave and strong and stand on my own two feet and manage things. If I hadn’t promised, he wouldn’t have gone.” She squared her shoulders with heroic resolution. “I have to prove myself, to him and to me. He said I should sell the house and buy something grand, like this house, and that I should hire servants to look after me.”

  “All right, now everything is going to be fine, honey. Why don’t you go up to your old room and take a nap,” Daniel cajoled. “You look exhausted. We’ll have dinner on the terrace, would you like that?”

  Nellie sniffed and hiccoughed. “Yes, I would. You are so wonderful and understanding. I love you as much as I love Philippe. Here!” she said, thrusting the power of attorney into Daniel’s hands. “I don’t want this…this paper. You take care of it.”

  “I will. Now, run along. I’ll look in on you after a bit. And you better be sound asleep,” he teased.

  After Nellie left, Daniel sat down with a thump on the iron bench. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered. So Philippe was a chip off the old block. He should have seen it coming, been prepared. He felt himself puff out in pride and couldn’t decide whom he was more proud of—Nellie or Philippe.

  What a remarkable young couple they were.

  Hours later, his garden chores completed, Daniel set about readying the fire for his barbec
ue. As he was stoking the coals, he smelled a familiar scent. Jane! He whirled, his heart taking on an extra beat. Coming down the same flagstone steps were both Bebe and Jane. Grinning, he tossed his cooking utensils on the bench beside the open pit and approached them. “Just in time for dinner!” he shouted happily, his arms outstretched in welcome.

  Jane neatly sidestepped Daniel’s welcome, but Bebe allowed a peck on her cheek. “I’m sorry we didn’t call ahead, Daniel, but we’ve been talking, and I decided we should just come over. This isn’t a social visit, I’m afraid. It’s business.”

  A nerve at the side of Daniel’s eye twitched. His first thought was that Jane and Bebe were obviously allies, but against whom? Himself? Surely Jane wasn’t going to allow their private lives to interfere with studio business. Recovering, he stepped aside and invited them to sit down.

  “Let’s go down into the garden,” Bebe said quietly.

  His eyes puzzled and apprehensive, Daniel followed them. “I didn’t think there was any studio business this week,” he said lightly.

  “This business concerns…my son. I’m here because of Philippe,” Bebe explained. “He came to see me early this morning before he left for Fort Dix, to say good-bye…and to tell me he made a mistake in marrying Nellie. He told me he didn’t love her, and that she…he said she’d tricked him into marrying her. Apparently the marriage was never consummated. I told him he could get an annulment if he wanted…. Oh, Daniel, he was so distraught, so unhappy! He talked for a long time, and we managed to clear up a lot of the misunderstandings between us.”

  Bebe paused and glanced over at Jane, who inclined her head encouragingly. Bebe nodded and turned back to Daniel. “One thing that particularly disturbed him was the fact that he’d left his power of attorney with Nellie. At his insistence I called my attorney, who dictated another one over the phone. I copied it verbatim, and Philippe signed and dated it. The time is on it also to show that it superseded the one he left for Nellie. I called Jane to be the witness.” She shrugged. “That’s about it, Daniel.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Bebe, surely you don’t expect me to believe this…this bullshit you’re handing me,” Daniel exploded. “My God, woman! I can’t believe you’d stoop this low. I thought you’d turned over a new leaf. No, I won’t stand for this. Never!”

  “No, Daniel, what Bebe is telling you is the truth,” Jane broke in pleadingly. “I was there. I spoke with Philippe. This is what he wants. For months I couldn’t understand why he took such a sudden dislike to me. I asked him this morning, and he said Nellie told him I was arranging dates for her with some of the stars and insisting she see older men, men affiliated with the studio. That simply isn’t true. I would never do such a thing, and I think you know it.

  “I don’t like your daughter, Daniel,” she continued after a slight pause. “She has undermined me every chance she could. What’s more, she’s lied—not once, but several times. Believe me, I feel terrible saying these things to you. I was so fed up, so disgusted that I drew up my resignation; it’s locked in my desk.” She gave a choked laugh. “I was going to let her push me out, Daniel, because I loved you with all my heart and I didn’t want any problems. But now…I’m so sorry, Daniel. I wish…”

  “You wish what? Nellie was right, you are a scheming know-it-all,” Daniel said hoarsely. “She said you dumped all your frustrations on her. She told me what it was like working for you, but I didn’t want to believe her.”

  Jane’s eyes blazed. “Did she tell you about Ambrosia? It was a wonderful property, one I was determined to buy. Only we missed out because I let the option lapse—I thought we had two more days than we did. And the reason I thought that was because someone had changed the lapse date on the agreement; you can see the erasure marks. Then, after the deadline had come and gone, the agreement was tampered with again to reflect the original date.” Jane paused and looked Daniel straight in the eye. “I think Nellie did it, Daniel—your daughter. And I also believe she tricked Philippe into marrying her. I saw that young man, and he wasn’t lying, I can tell you that.”

  Daniel’s eyes were wild behind his glasses. “I cannot believe you’re saying any of this. You of all people, Jane. How could I have been so wrong about you? Bebe, yes, her colors will never change, but you! Jesus, I loved you, wanted to marry you…And now this. Well, I’ll tell you one thing—until I hear this from Philippe himself, I am discounting everything you say. And now I’d appreciate it if you’d both get off my property.”

  “Whose property, Daniel?” Bebe asked coolly. “My divorce from Reuben isn’t final yet. I still own half this house. I can stay here as long as I wish. I can also fire you if I wish.” She paused a moment, then sighed and shook her head. “Only I don’t wish…. You were never pig-headed before, Daniel. You always listened to reason, one of the few people capable of seeing both sides of an issue. I admire your attitude toward your daughter; family is important. But truth is truth. If you turn this into a legal matter, we’ll fight you every step of the way, which means Philippe’s shares will be under contest until the matter is resolved. The entire studio could be jeopardized.”

  Daniel’s legal mind raced. It was true. Nellie would be out in the cold if he didn’t do something. Christ, he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. He was angry now, angrier than he’d ever been in his life.

  “Are you going to fight me, Daniel?” Bebe asked crisply.

  “You’re damn right I am—with my last breath if necessary. I’m not going to let you ruin these two young people.”

  Bebe stared at her old friend for a long time before she spoke. And when she did, it was to Jane. “Show him.”

  Jane drew a thick brown envelope from her purse. “I think if you read twenty or so pages, you’ll know what you have in your hands. We’ve decided to go into production with this as soon as possible—even if your interference forces us to close down the studio! Because I warn you, Daniel: if you make a move against us, I will resign, effective immediately, and what’s more I’ll demand full compensation—in one lump sum. That means my termination settlement, retirement pension, every monetary remuneration Reuben set up for me according to the terms of my contract. It’s a considerable amount, Daniel—and added to the financial burden of a legal dispute, it could even wipe out the studio. But I’m sure you know that.”

  Daniel’s eyes glittered coldly as he started to read from the thick folder. He continued to read until it was too dark to see Reuben’s cramped handwriting. His hands trembled when he handed the thick envelope back to Jane, who was now a dim shadow in the early twilight.

  It was to Bebe he spoke. “I have an ironclad contract. I should know, I drew it up myself.” His voice was so full of pain, Bebe winced.

  “I know that, but I can challenge it,” she replied. “I don’t want to do that, Daniel. All I want is what’s best for the studio. That should be all you want, too. Reuben will never forgive you if you allow things to get out of hand. And because he isn’t here, I must protect and respect our son’s wishes.”

  “Not at the expense of my daughter,” Daniel said in a choked voice.

  “She’s a bad seed, Daniel. She’s not your blood daughter,” Bebe reminded him. “You think about that and remember Rajean. Think back and remember.”

  Daniel reached out to Jane, who instinctively backed up a step. “Jane, I loved you. I don’t understand…” he cried brokenly.

  “I love you now, Daniel, I’ll always love you, but I can’t…I won’t let Nellie destroy all that Reuben built up, and me along with it,” Jane said quietly. “If I hadn’t talked to Philippe myself today, I would have let that happen in the name of my love for you. But not now. Good-bye, Daniel.”

  Daniel sat with his head in his hands, hard, dry sobs racking his body. In the whole of his life he’d never lost his temper, never said a deliberate, mean, hurtful word to anyone. Yet just minutes before he’d verbally attacked Bebe, negated her as a person. Shame rivered through him. And Jane…God in heaven,
he’d just about called her a liar to her face. How could he do that? He loved her.

  They didn’t understand about Nellie, didn’t know what she’d gone through. They were overreacting, judging his daughter unfairly. There may have been granules of truth in what they’d said, but it was all blown out of proportion. Sweet, wonderful Nellie…how could they think such awful things about her? Jesus, she’d been through hell. Her mother had just died, not a normal death, but a suicide. That alone could scar anyone.

  Nellie was merely shy, not aloof or cold. Cold…Jesus, the girl was so full of love! She fetched his slippers, rubbed his aching neck, made sure he ate balanced meals and got to bed on time, worried about him constantly. With Rajean for a mother she’d simply had to grow up too fast, take on too much responsibility when she should have been dating and having fun.

  Daniel’s frantic thoughts raced back in time. Even as a child Nellie had been a loner, afraid of close friendships, of getting hurt. While the other kids were skating and bicycling and going to parties, she preferred to study, write in her journals, spend time in the library, and listen to the radio. She had been an exemplary student, first at St. Margaret’s and then at Bishop Ireton. Rajean had gone to the PTA meetings, had conferred with the austere nuns when they called. Yet…Daniel frowned, suddenly recalling that even though Nellie had been a straight-A student, the nuns still called the house and sent summoning letters. At the time, Rajean had shrugged off his questions—and he had always been left with the impression that the calls were of a complimentary nature. What else could they have been?

  Jesus, what was he doing here, he asked himself uneasily. Looking for ways to condemn his daughter, to believe all the things Bebe and Jane said? Of course he was; justice demanded it of him. There were two sides to everything.

  Philippe…Philippe needed to belong to someone, and Nellie felt the same way, so it was natural for the two young people to gravitate toward each other.