Our Seas of Fear and Love

by Richard Shain Cohen

  “Don’t worry about me, ma’m.”

  With that, Deirdre, for now, self-satisfied, waited for her lover and protector from the war in which they fought together. She smiled remembering yet still troubled by the horror they had endured.

  Later, the front door opened. The policewoman waiting, surprised him, but not overwhelmingly. “And who and what are you doing here?” he asked pleasantly.

  “I’m here to guard Mrs. Hurwitz.”

  “Oh. She does need that. She’s been threatened,” he smiled. “I’m Mr. Moreau, owner of this flat. Mrs. Hurwitz, I presume, is in the study.”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” He started for Deirdre. “Oh, don’t follow. I’ll protect her. You just amuse yourself with the television. Perhaps we can all have a coffee in a little bit.”

  “What happened, Deirdre? Be honest with me. No screwing around.”

  “Étienne, love.” She hugged and kissed him, felt the coldness of his lips. She moved back. “They’ve accused me of taking money. They also questioned where we got some of the pieces and where some are.”

  “What money, Deirdre?”

  “The money they paid us.”

  “Is that all? Where is it? How much?”

  “Your questions. They’re confusing me.”

  “Where’s the money?” He grabbed her shoulders. “Where? Come. We’re leaving here.”

  “How? We can’t get out.”

  “Deirdre, love, you’ve forgotten the war. Diane? And by the way, how’s your husband?” The question was intentionally mocking and threatening. Obviously, there was no way he would have been aware of the encounter in Cape Astraea. Deirdre grimaced while feeling the sting of a slap. Recovering, she not only feared him but the policewoman. “She’s,” Deirdre emphasized, “out there.”

  “Don't worry, I said,” he gruffly answered, smiling grotesquely. “It will be easier than Diane.”

  “ But there'll be a replacement soon.”

  “ It’s no matter, and then it's off to my private plane.”

  “What?”

  “How did you think I got here so fast? We’re getting out.”

  “Where?”

  “It’s my hideaway. Be patient, lover.” The sarcasm scared her more.

  “I don’t think . . . .”

  “Stop thinking. Just do. Follow me. I’ve never let you down, love.”

  He had never frightened her before but did now. She felt a jolt throughout her body, shuddered, felt the rising pimplings along her skin. Why? Be careful. He’s hiding anger. He’s never behaved like this with me. I wish he’d kiss me. Hug me, or feel my breasts, show some feeling toward me. What? Oh shit. What have I done? I can handle him. You sure? I can. I know I can whenever I want to turn it on. And I will as never before.

  He interrupted. “Deirdre, get behind me. We’re going out there. She’s probably getting restless. We’ve been in here too long. Remember, behind me.”

  They went to the living room. Smiling, as though there had been something conspiratorial happening, the policewoman rose and said she was just about to get them. The smile changed as she stood. She raised her arm bent at the elbow either to strike or protect herself as Étienne pushed her arm aside, held it with one hand and with the other turned her quickly before she could strike at him with her leg, tightened a grasp on her throat cutting air and blood, cracking a vertebrae in her neck, as she slowly sank to the ground.

  “C’mon. Let’s go.”

  “You killed her. Now they’ll really be after us, you goddamn fool. You think we’re fighting Nazis?”

  “Oui, mon amoureuse prostituée”

  “You fucking bastard.”

  “Come,” and he grabbed her arm, pulling her down the hallway as she stumbled repeatedly, struggling uselessly against his strength.

  She started to scream. Before she could finish, he slapped her hard across her face, knocking her head sideways. “Shut up, or you’ll end up like that woman we left lying on the floor. A third Diane,” as he grimly feigned a laugh.

  “All right, now just get on your feet, and let's get out of here.”

  Shaking, terrified, her voice unsteady, “Why are you treating me like this? What did I do to you?” Forcing some composure, “I love you, and you call me a whore, drag me like you didn't get enough for your money. Is that the way you treat the loyal woman who loves you, a love you have always returned? “ She forced herself to cry. “I resent your cruelty. You probably left marks all over me.”

  He smiled, spoke endearingly. “Shut up and stop your whimpering. That policewoman upset me. They’ll find her soon, if they haven’t already. She’ll recover eventually. I suppose I should have outright killed her, not just shut off the breathing and – oh you heard it – that little crack – I'm sorry, dear one. Just shut up or else. Hurry. We have to get to my plane.”

  He drove toward the West End, turned into a narrow street, while asking about the money. “Now where is it, Deirdre?” Frightened again, she told him, “It's in a Swiss account and one of the islands.”

  “Which? Where? The numbers. You were planning to tell me.”

  “I was. I was. I swear it. I love you, Étienne, and would never hurt or betray you.”

  “And you weren't going to cheat me, or,” and he laughed, “share it with your cuckold husband?”

  “I resent that.” She reached in her purse, pulled out the crumpled papers, moved still closer to him, placing her hand on his thigh, “Here. Here's all of it just as. . . .”

  He interrupted. “Just what?” taking her hand and moving it to his zipper. “A little fun first,” he growled. “Thanks, Deirdre.”

  He sped a bit faster, reached across, brushing her breasts. “One last feel. Oh some more.” “Then stop. It’s dark here.” She tried keeping her voice soft, seductive.

  He sped a little more.

  “What are you doing?” She cried out.

  “Making out with you, dearest Deirdre.”And he thrust open the door, shoved, “No more deceit.” He shoved harder against her fearful crying out and resistance, forced strongly between her thigh and ribs, “And no jail time,” he loudly laughed, as her head hit the edge of the sidewalk and she rolled onto the street. To be certain, he ran over her, pressed hard on the gas pedal as he turned again in the direction of the airport tunnel, looking about to determine whether anyone had seen or heard. He knew there was blood on the car. He decided to leave it at the outer edge of the car rental, not caring when it was found. He had given a false name and license, something he was accustomed to with the friends he had made during the war.

  He took a cab, his face covered by a pulled-down hat and coat collar upward. He told the driver in a muffled voice to take him to the private area, waited for the cab to leave, filed his papers, giving a false flight plan, ran, waited impatiently for the control tower to give him permission to take off. By the time he was in the air, both the policewoman’s and Deirdre’s body had been found. In the ambulance, they were able to rouse the policewoman.

  Étienne’s escape was wearying yet well planned. After island hopping, he eventually landed in Morocco, took a flight to Rhodes and went to an inconspicuous house in a narrow, ancient alleyway. He would figure later how to get the money, believing he would never be caught. Yet, he did not need her filchings, for he, too, had kept funds from her. But he had Deirdre’s signature, if he so decided. His actual need was to kill a betrayer. Diane, Deirdre, intermingled in life and death.

  By morning, in Boston and in Maine, the newspapers told of the two women, one injured badly, the other, Deirdre Hurwitz dead, whether hit and run or deliberate, the police would have to determine, though they already knew. They issued a description of Étienne, although it was quite unlikely they would find him. Eventually they would contact the FBI and Interpol.

  A day later the headline read, “Prominent Art Connoisseur Apparently Murdered.”

  ~

  When the police arrived at Gregory’s home, both Pamela and Brig
it were there. Everyone overwhelmed, no one knew what to say. Brigit recovered sufficiently to call Thomas and tell him what happened and that she would stay with Gregory to make certain he was all right. By now Thomas was beginning to weary of her lengthy visits with Gregory, although she was always present for Robert and Kathryn who knew she was there when they needed her, whether before or after school, or if they had problems. She could never neglect being a mother for anyone or anything.

  With this horror enveloping the house, she did feel guilty. She had dug into places in the house she shouldn’t have. She had revealed the withheld secrets. She had hurt Gregory and his daughters. Would they blame her?

  For now, everyone was crying, gasping, and breathless. Gregory, when he recovered some, immediately called Melinda. “Dearest.”

  “Hi, dad.”

  “You have some time?”

  “Right now I do. One of the interns is seeing a patient of mine. What’s up?” Obviously she hadn’t seen any papers or no one had said anything to her.

  “Melinda. It’s your mother.”

  “Is she away again? Are you O.K.?”

  “Melinda, hon,” he choked some, “Melinda, she’s dead.”

  “What? How?” She shivered.

  “The police in Boston say she’s been murdered.”

  “Daaad,” she screamed. “How? When?”

  “No one knows. Can you come home? I’m making arrangements to have the body shipped here.”

  Melinda was crying now. “Oh, dad, are Pam and you going to be all right ’til I get there?”

  “Yes, dear. What about you?”

  “I’ll manage, dad. I’ll be home in the morning. O.K.?”

  “Yes. Just be careful. O.K.?”

  “I will,” she sobbed. Off the phone, she ran from the emergency room to her room, lay on the bed shaking the length of her body. She could not control herself. Her roommate came in.

  “Melinda. They said you ran out. Are you all right?” She watched Melinda’s shaking body, sat beside her, rubbing her back.

  “It’s my mother. It’s unbelievable. Someone murdered her.”

  Her roommate stopped rubbing, stunned, recovered. “Can I get you a sedative?”

  “I guess,” as she continued shaking. “Yes.”

  By the next morning, having recovered some, one of the doctors asked if she could drive. He would get someone to take her, and she agreed.

  _______________

  Étienne – Angry Seas

  The police gave them time for the funeral and family gathering and several acquaintances, including Deirdre’s. She was buried with an honor guard for her wartime duty, a flag given to her parents at Gregory’s request. He rejected a burial at Arlington, believing she did not belong there after what the family discovered. He kept wondering when the truth would emerge either through police or investigation or a curious reporter. The museum Board had already decided to do nothing more for now but to write off the money, until, if ever, the police found Étienne. They would, however, look for the owners of the questioned pieces.

  The FBI followed leads after examining the car. Unfortunately for Étienne, a woman who checked out the car remembered his accent and was able to describe him. They surmised he left in a private plane. They contacted Interpol. A bulletin described him and that he was wanted for theft, assault on a policewoman, and a possible murder. The search included all countries from which he and Deirdre had either stolen or bought antiquities.

  A year passed. Étienne vaguely felt he had succeeded in hiding his identity, neglected his wife left in France. Within that year she contacted the police about her missing husband. However they were of no help, although they had received notice he was an unapprehended murder suspect.

  ~

  Aware that possibly Interpol could be searching for him, he had hidden in an old narrow street where he felt no one would think to look. For further cover, he had also taken up with a Greek woman who lived with him. He began to learn the language with her help. She reveled in her fortune at having become the mistress of a wealthy man. Occasionally, she wondered why he wanted to live in the ancient city.

  “Why do we not move out into the countryside? There are houses, or you could build one. We could overlook the sea, enjoy the weather more, the beauty.”

  “No. Just pay attention to what we’re doing now. You make me feel inadequate asking such questions.”

  She laughed, annoying him. “Inadequate with what you have down there. I love it,” as she moved from under him and bent to put him in her mouth. “Don’t be angry. I’ll soothe you. See. I’m unselfish; get you back in the mood.”

  He moved away, slapped her, shouting, “Don’t ask me to build you a palace. Is that supposed to be payment for sex? I like it here. This is Rhodes for me. No more questions. We live here. If you don’t like it, then get out.”

  She started crying. “That was cruel. Your temper seems to be getting worse.” She was right. He was beginning to worry there was no other place to which he could flee and increasingly felt cornered, not only by his crime and the possibility of being found but also by this woman who was already irritating him.

  Unaware, of course, how he felt, she continued, “And if you keep it up, to hell with you and your money. I’ll leave. Find yourself another screw.” She jumped from the bed.

  “And where do you think you’re going?” He grabbed at her, caught her by the waist, scratching her.

  She pulled further from him. “You go to hell.” She went to the closet and started to get her clothes, knowing he would stop her.

  “You think I care, Irene? But get away from those clothes. I bought them.”

  “You want me walking out of here naked?”

  “Why not? The police would have a fine time. Perhaps you could pleasure them.”

  “You bastard.” She picked up a shoe and threw it. It hit above the eye.

  “No one does that to me.” He jumped from the bed, grabbed her breasts and pulled. She screamed at the pain. He struck her. She screamed more loudly, tears flowing down her cheeks. “I’ll kill you.” She twisted away from him, ran to the kitchen, grabbed a knife, ran back at him. As he quickly reached her hand, the knife struck and cut his lower arm.

  “Bitch. I’ll kill you.”

  Frightened, she backed away. She saw a dress on the floor. Reached for it before he could catch her and ran to the door somehow managing to slip into the dress as she got to the street, screaming she was being attacked. People looked from windows. One person only, gently stopped her. “Your face, woman. Go to the police.”

  Irene, shivering, was fearful of reporting him. “I can’t do that. He’ll kill me.”

  “You must go. Come. I’ll take you.” She unconsciously followed the man, trembling. At the police station she told of the fight, describing unknowingly the man they had heard about from Interpol.

  The police did not wait, went to the narrow street, banged on the door and arrested him. It was then they looked through their bulletins again. Soon newspaper headlines appeared in Rhodes, in France, in the United States and elsewhere, SUSPECTED MURDERER, FORMER HERO OF THE FRENCH RESISTANCE, IN CUSTODY.

  A dead woman and a live, beaten lover, and deserted wife testified about and against a past Maquis leader now wanted in the United States. After extradition proceedings that he naturally fought, Interpol sent him to Boston where the FBI met and took him to maximum security Suffolk Bay. Eventually, after evidence and trial, Étienne Moreau received a life sentence and imprisoned in Leavenworth where the past, rage, and time eventually ended his luxurious post-war days.

  _______________

  Tide Pool

  Despite the pall of public animosity and gossip, the community of Cape Astraea, for the most part, sympathized with Gregory and his daughters. Some grumbled at the military burial, refusing to honor a thief’s engagement in life-threatening situations for the country. Deirdre had sewn her own death gown. Black would clothe her for many years.

  Worse
was the embarrassment for her parents, who now old, would never understand how their outstanding daughter who had such a proud war record could have become so greedy that she engaged in activities so shameful and dishonest. The photos of their beautiful, brilliant daughter haunted them. Their present pain overshadowed their past pleasure in the woman they produced. They could only think that their daughter’s entire life had been enclosed in a shadow. They also, at times, rationalized and blamed Gregory and his family for exposing Deirdre, aware condemnation of Gregory was unreasonable. They needed some string to bind them to the love they had for Deirdre, to prevent them from hating her for what she had done to them and her entire family. The confusion overwhelmed Edward and Christine. The gossip in Warrington hurt and devastated them. Edward sold the farm. They then moved to western Massachusetts where they would be unknown, made arrangements for home help, grieved until Edward died of a heart attack, leaving Christine a lonely, sad widow to end her days trying to finish the puzzle that was their daughter. Nevertheless, she rationalized and never lost her love for Deirdre.

  In Cape Astraea, Gregory, who had now been ill all these years, knew that the disease was going to be the victor, despite medical advancements. Mary, Melinda, Pamela, and Brigit also knew.

  Pamela having finished her master’s degree, called Gregory. “Dad. I’d like to come home and live with you. I know you have good people to look after the house for you, and I would love to be home by the sea. I can write there, as you know. Why, I might even write about the sailor in our family.”

  She faltered some. “You know I’m living with Larry. Oh, Dad, before I decide, are you well enough for me to stay here?”

  “Why do you ask? I'm getting along.”

  “Well, if you feel comfortable enough without me.”

  “Sweetheart, you know I have all the help I need.” He was thinking of Brigit, as well as of the night nurse. Andrea was getting old but wouldn’t quit and was part of the family. She still fixed meals for him.