“She’ll be okay—won’t she?”
“I hope so.”
Larissa stayed for a few moments and then left without a word. Marie-Thérèse began to wash Celisse again. After she finished, she made funny voices and moved the toys around to show Celisse how to play. Once, Celisse even smiled.
At long last she drew Celisse from the bath, wrapped her in a fluffy towel, and picked her up. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? And tomorrow we’ll do it again, toys and all.”
Celisse laid her head on Marie-Thérèse’s shoulder. Placing her lips briefly on Celisse’s fresh-smelling hair, Marie-Thérèse went to find her some clothes.
Chapter Five
Her baby was gone. Vanished. And Desirée Massoni had no clue where to begin looking. For all she knew Benny Tovik had put Nadia up for bidding on the black market.
Desirée wondered what she would do. She knew what she should do—inform her estranged husband Raoul Massoni about the baby’s existence—though that wasn’t necessarily what she would actually do. It was much easier to walk away and pretend Nadia had never existed. Benny would gouge a lot of money out of someone, but that didn’t concern her; she would eventually get her share from him. What’s more, Nadia would have a good home—most likely with rich parents.
Of course, if Raoul ever found out, there would be big trouble.
Who would tell him?
Nadia should never have happened at all. Desirée knew she should have taken care of it when she had first discovered her pregnancy. But something had stopped her.
What?
Deny it as she might, she knew it was Raoul Massoni who had stopped her from getting an abortion—even if he didn’t know it. Though they had been separated six times over the past three years, Raoul retained some hold on her. Maybe it was because he hadn’t filed for divorce, and that he always was so ready to believe and forgive her when she needed somewhere to go.
The last time she left him was seven months ago, when she had been four months pregnant. She had never told him about the baby. He would have made her stay, and she wasn’t ready to be a prisoner, though she had every intention to give him the baby when it was born.
Everything changed when they placed Nadia in her arms. For a month Desirée could do nothing more than stare at her baby and wonder at the miracle of life. Even now, the memory brought a warm feeling of longing.
Then the reality set in—the daily feedings, the crying, having to find a baby-sitter when she wanted to go out. The outrageous costs. Her parents had given her money, and she had been tempted to call Raoul, though she’d already received a large sum from him the week before Nadia was born. She had suddenly realized that no amount would really help; the rest of her life no longer belonged to her.
At twenty-five she wasn’t willing to give it all up.
She should have called Raoul then, but something told her this would be the last straw with him. In her own way, she loved him—and especially the idea of him waiting, faithfully and patiently, for her to come home, while she experienced the best life had to offer.
Desirée loved Nadia, too. At least when she was happy and cooed, or when her friends told her how cute the baby was. So she had clung to Nadia for a while longer. Three days ago a caterer had offered her a temporary job in Paris and she had asked a friend to watch Nadia for the night. But the party was great and by the end, Desirée had met some nice people and had continued the party with them in another location. Only this morning had she remembered about her daughter and come home.
Too late. Nadia was gone, and so was the friend watching her.
Desirée debated silently. Pacing her small apartment, she spied the rattle she’d bought for Nadia only last week. One end was a flower, the face of it a child-safe mirror. On the yellow and red handle were the words Mommy loves me. Nadia couldn’t hold it up yet, but would be able to soon.
Desirée shook the rattle. It made a lovely sound that coaxed smiles from Nadia almost every time. Turning it, Desirée caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror. The heavy makeup around her brown eyes was smeared from her partying and her dark hair was mussed. But what called attention was the tiny shimmer of tears in her eyes.
Holding the rattle abruptly to her chest, Desirée stomped into the bathroom. She would go see Raoul and tell him about the baby so he could find her, but she would do it after she had fixed her face.
* * *
Desirée felt a little nervous as she let herself into the apartment she had shared with her husband off and on since their marriage three years ago. It was Saturday morning and Raoul would likely be home, perhaps even still in bed as it was the only day he didn’t have work or church obligations. Every time she returned home, the locks were unchanged and the apartment was always the same.
That’s why she felt shocked as she saw the pile of boxes in the entryway. Moving boxes. Anger flared through her heart. How can he do this to me?
Raoul came from the hall, carrying another box. He looked the same—tall with broad shoulders, auburn hair short around the base of the hairline and slightly longer on top, and attractive gray eyes that widened as he saw her. “Desirée.” With the word came the familiar emotions she saw in his face whenever she came home after a separation—hope, longing, desire. Maybe that was why she continued to come.
“Hello, Raoul.” She waited until he set down the box before hugging him. Out of habit, she held onto him longer than she should have. He didn’t push her away, and that took the edge off her irritation at the array of boxes.
“Are you going somewhere?” she asked, drawing back, but not releasing him completely. She had forgotten how tall and handsome he was and how appealing his good-boy image.
He regarded her quietly a long time before replying. “I’m moving. I didn’t think . . . I mean it’s been seven months since you came around. And more than two since you called. I didn’t know if . . .”
“If you would ever see me again?” Desirée frowned, mostly to see his reaction, but also because she didn’t like to think of him not being here.
“Marc died,” he said, as if that explained everything.
“Marc?”
The muscles in his jaw tightened and annoyance entered his voice. “One of my partners, my sister’s husband—Rebekka’s husband. You remember Rebekka, don’t you?”
“Of course.” Desirée didn’t have anything against Raoul’s sister, though they had never been friends. It all boiled down to religion, of course. Rebekka was as stuffy as Raoul in that regard. “And I know who Rebekka’s husband is. That’s too bad. He was a nice guy.” Yes, a nice guy who had given her money on more than one occasion during her pregnancy when she hadn’t wanted to approach Raoul.
“She’s taking it rather hard. She loved him so . . .” Raoul shook his head, searching for a word that fit. “Much. Anyway, I want to be there for her.”
“As she always is for you,” Desirée said tritely.
Her tone was lost on him. “Exactly. So what about you? Why are you here?”
She stepped closer to him, and he watched her without speaking, as though waiting for the words he longed to hear. He wanted her back, she could tell that, but there was a difference this time. Normally when she appeared, he would beg her to return. The last time he had required her to make promises she hadn’t kept, but he had still begged. This time he only waited.
Footsteps sounded in the hall, coming in their direction. Desirée heard snatches of a melody sung by a woman’s voice. She came into view, a woman with straight, shiny black hair to her shoulders, and though her size and most of the rest of her features were average, she had a beautiful smile and hazel eyes that fairly leapt with vitality. Desirée didn’t know her, but recognized her type immediately: wholesome and without guile, and likely a member of Raoul’s church, or some similar religion.
Desirée felt helpless to look away. Anger and jealousy surged to life in her heart.
The wide smile on the woman’s face faded into uncertainty. Sh
e held up hands clad in yellow rubber gloves. “Sorry if I’m interrupting.” Here her eyes scanned Desirée, obviously not happy to see her. “I’m pretty much done with the kitchen, Raoul. Would you like me to start on the bathroom?”
Raoul smiled at her with an open, unguarded expression, one Desirée hadn’t seen in a long time. “Thanks, Valerie. That’d be great. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“It’s nothing.” But the young woman didn’t leave. Instead, she dipped her head toward Desirée.
“Oh, I haven’t introduced you, have I?” Raoul said quickly. “Valerie, this is my, uh, wife, Desirée. And Desirée, this is Valerie Bernard. She’s a secretary at work. Well, more than that, actually. I think her new title is office manager. She about runs the secretarial department now. Without her, we’d all be lost.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Valerie said. She sounded nice enough, but Desirée detected disappointment in her eyes.
Desirée gave her an insincere smile. “You, too. But if you’ll excuse us, my husband and I have private things to discuss.”
Valerie’s smile faltered. “Of course.” She turned and disappeared down the hall.
“You didn’t have to be so rude,” Raoul said. “She’s here to help me, you know.”
“Yeah, right. Since when are you on a first-name basis with all the lowly secretaries? Face it, the only help she wants to give you is finding a replacement for me.”
Raoul bristled. “She is not! There’s no one more sweet and giving than Valerie. In all the years she’s worked for the company, our relationship has never been anything but professional. Besides, what would you care? You’re certainly not up for the job of being my wife.” There was a tense silence as they stared as each other. Desirée wanted to slap his face, but she stifled the impulse when he added, “Are you?”
The temptation was there. She could promise to stay—promise him anything he wanted—and they would have a few months together before he started talking religion and she got itchy feet. By then she would have all the funds she needed stored up for the future. She wouldn’t even have to tell him about Nadia.
Desirée closed the space between them and kissed him. The passion was there as it always was—strong and lasting. Her arms crept around his neck. “We can make it work,” he muttered. “We will make it work this time.”
Sure, whatever he wanted to believe. Maybe she even believed it a little herself.
The kiss deepened, and Desirée was consumed with her feelings for her husband. She really did love him. She shook her purse from her arm and let it fall to the ground.
The rattle in the purse made its customary noise. She wanted to ignore it—she silently cursed herself for bringing it along. Without that reminder it would have been so easy to tell Raoul whatever he wanted to hear. Of course then she would never know what happened to her daughter.
She pushed away from him almost violently.
“What?” he exclaimed.
“I’m not staying,” she told him stonily. “I came only to tell you something.”
Retrieving her purse from the floor, she dug into it and extracted the rattle and a bent photograph. “You have a daughter. I named her Nadia. She’s two months old this week.”
Raoul blinked at her in disbelief. Then the rush of questions began. “Where is she? How come you didn’t tell me? But this is wonderful news. Oh, I can’t believe it! Come on, take me to her.”
“I don’t know where she is!” Desirée nearly screamed the words. “I went to work and left her with a friend in my apartment building. She wasn’t there when I got back—I can’t find Nadia or my friend.” Tears built in Desirée’s eyes, and for the first time since her daughter’s disappearance, she was close to losing control. “I think my friend might have sold her. We know an American guy named Benny Tovik who does adoptions. I trusted her, but she might have done it for enough money. She knew I planned to turn her over to you anyway.”
“How could you do this?” Raoul voice was full of hurt, and worse, anger. “How could you do this to either of us? After how much I’ve loved you, and how hard I’ve tried to make you happy. All these years I’ve been hoping you would come back to stay, that we could make something of our relationship, have a family. But it’s not going to happen, is it? You’ve used me all along.”
“We’ve used each other.”
“No.” He shook his head violently. “I’d give my life for you. But you . . . you hid my own child from me when you know how much I want a family!” The way he said hid made it sound like a dirty word. “You never once had any intention of staying, did you? And now you’ve lost something even more precious.”
Desirée could bear it no longer. “I came, didn’t I? I’m telling you! Now you can find her and . . . keep her.” She backed away from him, swallowing hard against the sobs that came to her throat. “I could have gotten an abortion, you know. I would have if it had been any other man.”
She had her hand on the doorknob. “I hate you and your stupid values. My way of life isn’t so terrible. We could have been happy if you’d wanted to be a part of it, but, no, it was too beneath you. Well, I’ll tell you something: I’m finished with you so why don’t you just marry your prissy little secretary in there and get out of my life?”
With a jerk, she yanked open the door and fled before he could begin preaching religious muck. She didn’t need him to find happiness. What she needed was a double shot of whisky. That would put everything into perspective.
At least one good thing had come of the encounter with Raoul. If she knew him at all, he would find Nadia and give her a good home with all the love and material things she could ever need. Desirée would no longer have to feel guilty.
* * *
Raoul watched Desirée leave with disbelief. He had the too-familiar urge to run after her, but his knees had gone weak. He sank to one of his moving boxes, uncaring that it sagged under his weight.
I have a child, he thought.
The circumstances were so utterly different from what he’d dreamed of such a discovery that he could hardly decide how to act or what to feel.
I have a daughter.
He had longed for this day. For years he had waited for Desirée to come to her senses. He had kept the promises he had made, even knowing that she had not; and the hope that she would change had never left his heart, just as the pleas on her behalf had never left his prayers. He had dreamed of having a family with her.
But not like this.
I have a daughter!
Besides not telling him of their daughter’s existence, Desirée had left the infant unprotected. In the past, he had excused many things in her behavior, but this was too much. She’s never going to change if becoming a mother didn’t change her, he thought. She doesn’t want to change, and until she does—if she ever does—there is nothing I can do.
His hand still clutched the photograph and the rattle Desirée had given him. The black-and-white photo showed a dark-haired baby with a tiny, swollen face. Her eyes were open only a crack and her face wore a serious expression. He felt at once a kinship for the baby, though he knew that the ensuing months must have changed her features dramatically. Would he even know her if he passed her on the street? His heart said yes, but his mind understood the impossibility.
I must find her.
He would start with the police. If Nadia was being sold by an unscrupulous adoption agency, the police would know where to point him, perhaps they would even investigate on his behalf. A private investigator might help as well. His father would know a good one.
Tears came to his eyes when he thought of his parents, Danielle and Philippe Massoni. They had longed for a grandchild, and now they had one. If only he had known before! Already he’d missed so many precious hours of his daughter’s life.
I’ll make it up to you, he promised her silently. No matter what, no matter how long it takes, I’ll find you.
The fear that he wouldn’t be able to find her at all h
overed over his shoulder, yet he refused to give into despair. Desirée might be lost to him, but he wouldn’t give up on their daughter.
“Raoul? Raoul? Raoul!” Valerie’s voice came to him from far away. “Are you okay?” She still wore her rubber gloves and was carrying a bottle of bathroom cleaner. “I was saying that we’re out of sink cleanser, and I’ll need to go get some more. Raoul, what is it? What’s wrong?”
Raoul silently offered her the picture of Nadia. Valerie discarded her gloves and the empty bottle of cleaner and reached for it.
“I have a daughter,” he told her. “She’s two months old. And my wife has left me for the last time.” He didn’t know why he added this last bit, but he felt relieved that he’d voiced the thought aloud.
“Well the picture’s a little blurry, but I bet she’s adorable,” Valerie murmured. “Where is she?”
Tears in Raoul’s eyes nearly obliterated her features. “I don’t know, but I’m going to find her.” He outlined Desirée’s story, and by the time he had finished, Valerie’s eyes were also bright with tears.
“I’m so sorry.” She put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Look, you get a search started, and I’ll take care of things here—that’s what you’re paying me time and a half for, remember? Don’t worry about a thing. I can take care of it all.”
Raoul leapt to his feet. “Thanks so much. I really don’t know what I would do without you.” He put his hands on her arms and squeezed briefly before starting for the door.
“Wait! You’ll need the picture.”
He actually laughed. “Oh yeah,” he said sheepishly. “I forgot.”
“It’s not every day you learn you’re a father.”
Raoul paused at the door. “Have I ever told you that you’re going to make someone a wonderful wife, Valerie? I only wished I—” He broke off, amazed at what he had been going to say—that he longed to go back to being the person he had been before making the horrible, youthful mistake of marrying Desirée. That he wished he’d met Valerie before his wife. But how could he say such things when he was still legally married? Besides, his marriage had given him little Nadia, and he would never give her up.
Twice in a Lifetime Page 6
