Lavender Morning

by Jude Deveraux

  “Her,” Corporal Smith said as he reached up and took a cigarette from David Clare’s lips. It was burning down and about to singe him.

  “Who?” the captain asked impatiently. Sometimes these men didn’t seem to realize there was a war going on.

  The corporal took a last drag off Clare’s cigarette, then nodded toward the big building in front of them. It had once been beautiful, but now a quarter of it was rubble. Standing on the steps was General Austin, a short bulldog of a man who seemed to believe all words should be uttered as quickly, as succinctly, and as loudly as possible. His orders had been known to put tears in grown men’s eyes. The soldiers played a game they called “Worse than Austin.” First line of battle or fifteen minutes alone with Austin? Torture or Austin? In the last year they’d developed a catchphrase. “Better than Austin.” They used it when they were about to charge into gunfire. “This is Better than Austin,” they’d say before attaching bayonets and charging.

  The short, sturdy general was standing on the steps, bawling out three young officers, and Sergeant Clare was staring at him as though he were in a trance.

  “Austin?” the captain said in disgust. “He’s paralyzed by Austin? Oh hell! Get somebody else to drive the bastard. Clare! Come with me.”

  Sergeant Clare didn’t move.

  “Not him,” Corporal Smith said. “Her!”

  Captain Owens looked back just as “she” stepped from behind a pillar, and he smiled. Oh yeah, her. Miss Edilean Harcourt, the general’s secretary. The Untouchable One. The woman who it sometimes seemed the entire military force lusted after, but no man had been able to get near. There was a rumor that her legs were three and a half feet long and there was a lot of discussion of what a man would do with legs like that.

  Whatever their fantasies, no man had so much as received a smile from Miss Edilean Harcourt—but not for want of trying. Every type of man had tried every method known to win her. From an Englishman with an accent so elegant it was whispered he was royalty, to an American GI who’d grown up in the LA slums, they all tried.

  Flowers, candy, love poems, nylons, even a banner saying MISS EDI, I LOVE YOU strung across the building during the night had elicited no response from her.

  It had been a great game for the men who’d been there a while to watch the newcomers fall apart when they first saw Edilean Harcourt. She was a foot taller than the general and had a patrician beauty that the men couldn’t take their eyes off. The most common phrase uttered by new soldiers was, “She’s a goddess.”

  When “that look” was seen in a new man’s eyes, money started changing hands. They bet on the number of days it would take before he was given Miss Edi’s “drop dead” look, and what the poor man would do to try to win her. They knew the general kept the chocolates sent to her, and he threw the flowers out the window. It was his hay fever. As for the nylons, all anyone knew was that all the girls in General Austin’s office wore perfect nylons.

  So now Captain Owens shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment. Another man had fallen under her spell. “How long has he been like this?” he asked the corporal.

  “Since yesterday. I don’t think he slept last night, just lay awake staring at the ceiling.”

  “Great,” the captain said in sarcasm. “Just what I need. Clare was sent here specially to be Austin’s driver. He drove another general straight through enemy fire, didn’t blink an eye. He’s up for some medal, and Austin wants him.”

  The corporal glanced at David Clare. He was a tall young man, dark blond hair, and blue eyes, and he was still standing in comatose silence as he stared at the woman on the porch. “From the look of him, he’d throw himself on a bomb for her.”

  “Yeah, well, so would we all, but she’d probably just step over his body.”

  “I see, sir,” the corporal said, “you’ve chosen the Ice Queen route.”

  “Better that than to remember the roses I stole off a burned-out house and had tossed at my head by ol’ Hardheart Austin.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  “How about you?” the captain asked as he leaned against the jeep, took out a cigarette, and offered the corporal one.

  “Parachute silk,” he said as he lit the captain’s cigarette, then his own. “Stole it from the quartermaster. I could be court-martialed,” he added, then shot a look at the captain.

  “Don’t worry. Nobody reports crimes concerning Miss Harcourt.”

  They smoked their cigarettes in silence, leaning against the jeep, the silent, staring Sergeant Clare between them. After a while, General Austin seemed to tire of bawling out the poor officers and started down the stairs. As always, close behind him was Miss Harcourt. They were an incongruous pair, she tall, thin, elegant; he short, thick, and common-looking. It was said that when he was sixteen a judge gave him a choice of jail or the army. It was also told that the general said the army was exactly like gang warfare except with better food, and that he’d bullied his way to the top. Whatever he’d done to achieve where he was, he was brilliant at warfare.

  The corporal and the captain stood at attention as the general drew near, and the captain wished he’d dragged Sergeant Clare away. Austin would blame the nearest person for Clare’s inability to function—and that meant Captain Owens.

  But he’d underestimated Sergeant Clare. As the general approached, the sergeant snapped back into the world and opened the passenger door for him.

  Whatever complaints there were about the general, he was courteous to Miss Harcourt. Before her, his secretaries had to be replaced every three months. A couple of the young women had been sent home, as their nerves were at the breaking point. The men said, “Bombs don’t bother them, but Austin puts them in a hospital.”

  Miss Harcourt had been assigned to him nearly a year ago. There was a story the newcomers were told after their usual flowers and candy had been unsuccessful, about the first time the general yelled at Miss Edi. No one knew the full story, but she drew herself up to her full height, looked down her long nose at him, and said she’d like to see him in private. When the doors were closed, everyone pressed his or her ear up against them to hear, but Miss Harcourt’s voice was low and quiet. They did manage to hear words like bully and never again dare and respect.

  In the past year, those words had been greatly embellished and the story enhanced into legend status. It was rumored that when Mrs. Austin met Miss Harcourt, she hugged her much harder than she did her husband, and was much more concerned with Miss Harcourt’s comfort than she was with that of her husband.

  Whatever the truth was, General Austin treated Miss Harcourt with the utmost courtesy. He got in the back of the jeep, then waited patiently for her to take the passenger seat in front. While the sergeant got in, she handed General Austin a folder. “You might want to read that,” she said.

  The captain and the corporal watched the old man obediently take the folder and open it.

  “Listen,” the captain said so only Sergeant Clare could hear him, “you might as well give up now. You can’t win her.”

  Sergeant David Clare gave the captain a look he’d seen many times before. It said that no one had won her because he hadn’t tried.

  Sergeant Clare started the jeep and maneuvered it through the many vehicles and people around them.

  “So where are you from?” he asked Miss Harcourt.

  “I think you should watch the road.”

  David gave a couple of twists to the steering wheel to miss a truck and went between a man on crutches and two pretty girls. That the tires almost ran over the man’s foot and the side of the jeep grazed the women’s skirts didn’t bother him. The man raised a crutch and shouted at him and the two girls giggled. In the back, General Austin glanced up from the papers he was pretending to read and gave a little smirk. There was nothing he liked better than seeing a man make a fool of himself over his secretary.

  “The South,” David said. “I can hear it in your voice.”

  Edi didn’t b
other to answer him.

  “So where in the South?” David persisted. “Louisiana? No, too far south.” He looked her up and down as he jerked the vehicle around a deep pothole. “No, I can’t see you sharing a table full of boiled crab. You’re more the silver and china sort.”

  Edi pointed toward the road, then had to grab the dashboard to keep from flying over it when David slammed on the brakes. In the back, the general dug his heels into the floorboard, but said nothing.

  David waited while a truck drove across the road in front of them. “Georgia,” he said. “Maybe Savannah.” He looked at Edi for an answer, but she was silent.

  “I’m from New York,” he said as he pushed on the accelerator, leaving about an inch between the jeep and the side of the truck. “I drive a cab there and I have a little garage. I can fix most anything that has a motor.”

  David was looking at her and again almost hit another vehicle, this one as it unloaded four British officers. When he splashed water from a puddle on them, they shouted obscenities at him.

  “Sergeant,” Edi said with her back teeth clenched, “I must insist that you stop talking and watch where you’re going. You have a very important passenger on board.”

  “I’ll take care of you, don’t you worry about a thing.”

  “Not me!” she snapped. “The general. You have General Austin on board.”

  “Him?” David said, glancing in the mirror as the general put the folder up to hide his face. “He’s from New York. We have worse traffic than this in Manhattan. But you seem to be nervous.”

  “I am not—” She broke off as she pointed to a big truck in front of them and another one coming toward them on the right.

  “I see it. I’ll fix it,” David said as he gunned the jeep and went around the truck in front of them. For several long seconds, they were heading straight toward the oncoming truck. Edi grabbed the door and the top of the windshield. David swerved a second before they would have smashed into the oncoming truck, which was full of soldiers who cheered David’s daring. He blew the horn and waved as he passed.

  “See?” David said. “You’re safe with me.”

  Edi gave him a look of contempt even as she heard a noise from the general that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. But when she turned to him, he had the open folder in front of his face.

  “Virginia,” David said. “You’re from Virginia. ’Ol TJ’s country. That’s—”

  “I know who TJ is,” she said. “Thomas Jefferson.”

  “You teach school?”

  “No, I barbecue New York cabdrivers in the back garden.” She was sneering at him.

  “Had a bad day, have you?”

  “Not until I met you, I didn’t.”

  “Me? So you’re one of those snooty Virginians, are you? Overly proud to be from the land of our Founding Fathers, that sort of thing? Well, I don’t blame you for being proud of your home state, but I don’t think you should look down your nose at us poor Yankees. We—”

  “Being from Virginia has nothing to do with my dislike of you. You are the worst driver I have ever seen.”

  “Bad driver?” he asked incredulously. “I’ve never had a wreck. A few dented fenders and maybe a smashed radiator or two, but nothing that I’d call a real wreck.”

  In the back of the jeep, General Austin put the folder down and started watching his secretary and his new driver as though he were at a drive-in movie theater.

  “You nearly ran over a man on crutches, nearly hit a truck, nearly smashed into a car carrying four British officers, and nearly caused two trucks full of soldiers to crash into one another,” she said, showing her anger.

  “You sure use the word nearly a lot, don’t you? You do know, don’t you, that a miss is as good as a mile? So you are from Virginia. I was right!”

  “Where I come from is none of your business. Your job is to watch the road!”

  “I’d sure rather look at you. You have a boyfriend?”

  “Yes!” she snapped. “I’m married and have two children.”

  “I may be a bit quick in my driving, but you don’t tell the truth. They told me about you when they said General Austin wanted me. Want to know what they said?”

  Edi held on to the jeep, looked straight ahead, and said nothing.

  David leaned so far toward her that his face was inches from hers. Even so, he maneuvered the jeep between two trucks and a motorcycle with a sidecar. “They said that a dozen roses and a big box of chocolates would get anything a man wanted from you.”

  Such rage ran though Edi that she drew back her hand to slap him.

  David held on to the wheel with his left hand, grabbed her hand with his right, and kissed her palm.

  She jerked her hand away and looked like she wanted to shoot him.

  “Naw,” he said, “they didn’t say that. But it doesn’t feel good to be lied to, does it? Lies can hurt.”

  Edi turned her head from him for a moment, then looked back at the road. “Yes, I’m from Virginia and I have no boyfriend.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” he said, then glanced in the mirror at the general. He wasn’t sure, but David thought maybe the old bulldog was smiling.

  13

  WELL,” JOCELYN SAID as she cut Luke’s sandwich diagonally, the way he liked it. She’d pulled the last batch of lavender cookies out of the oven, it was one o’clock in the morning, and she was jittery with fatigue, but she couldn’t sit down. She knew without being told that Luke was hungry, so she made him a ham and cheese sandwich, put blue corn chips on the plate, and got him a beer.

  He mumbled thanks as she put the plate in front of him. “So much for my grandfather being a monster. She was in love with David Clare.”

  “She couldn’t stand him.”

  “Yeah, right,” Luke said, his mouth full. “You make a mean sandwich, you know that?”

  “At this time of the morning, anything I do is mean.”

  “Right,” Luke said as he picked up the rest of his sandwich and his beer. “I better go. You need some sleep. Tomorrow’s the big day.”

  When Jocelyn didn’t say anything, he looked at her. “Are you okay?”

  “No. Not really. It’s all too much too fast.”

  Luke put his food down, then put his hands on her shoulders and sat her in a chair. “So tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I think people want me to be Miss Edi, to be the Grand Dame, the Lady of the Manor. I think they have a future made up for me and I don’t think I can live up to it.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  She glared at him. “Shouldn’t you be telling me that it’s all my imagination? That no one expects anything of me?”

  “I’d rather tell you the truth. Tomorrow everyone in Edilean will be at Viv’s house, and they’ll be looking you over, and comparing you, and—”

  “You’re making me feel worse.”

  “Would it make you less nervous if I tell you you’re doing a great job?”

  “How does anyone know that?”

  “Do you know how scared this town was when they heard that Miss Edi had left Edilean Manor to a stranger? Left this big, old house to a single woman with no husband, no kids, just herself. We were afraid you’d show up…” He waved his hand.

  “With tattoos and piercings?”

  “Worse than that, with ideas for ‘improvements.’”

  “Like chrome and glass fountains?”

  “Yeah,” he said with a one-sided grin, “like chrome and glass fountains. Listen.” He took her hands in his. “You’ll do great. Wear one of your little Alice outfits with a headband and they’ll all think you’re wonderful.”

  When Luke smiled at her that way, she could feel herself leaning toward him. She wished he’d take her in his arms, but when she moved toward him, he leaned back, away from her. Immediately, Jocelyn straightened.

  “To bed!” he said. “Get some sleep so you’ll be fresh tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, sure,” she said hesitantly. “I’
ll have to ice the cookies, but that’s all.”

  “I’m sure Dad will be here early to help with that.”

  As she got up, she yawned. “You’ll be there, won’t you?”

  “Are you kidding? I have to drive into Williamsburg, pick up my grandparents, and drive them to the party. They’re dying to meet you.”

  “Why?”

  “The woman who’s to fill Miss Edi’s shoes? Of course they’ll want to inspect you.”

  Jocelyn groaned.

  “You’ll do fine. Now go.”

  “But I need to—” She looked around the kitchen.

  “The kitchen is fine. I’ll close up the house. You just need to sleep.”

  She didn’t realize how tired she was until she stepped onto the first stair step. When she got to the top, she smiled down at Luke, gave a little wave, then went into her bedroom.

  Even as exhausted as she was, she took a shower, washed her hair, and put on a clean nightgown. As she climbed into bed, her mind seemed to be a kaleidoscope of thoughts and images. She could almost see Miss Edi as a beautiful young woman, pursued by an entire military force. But her icy exterior seemed to have been penetrated by only one man, a sergeant named David Clare. The David she’d come to love more than her own soul.

  Jocelyn heard a noise downstairs and thought that Luke was still down there, locking doors, maybe still boxing cookies.

  Two gorgeous men, she thought. There were two beautiful men in her life and neither of them had so much as tried to kiss her. She’d kissed Ramsey, but she had initiated it. There was certainly no banner stretched across a building declaring love for her.

  14

  RAMSEY’S SISTER’S “BACKYARD” was about four acres of manicured garden, tended daily by four gardeners, only one of whom spoke English. There were tables set up under the trees, all with snowy white tablecloths and attended by uniformed staff. The guests were straight out of a Talbots catalog, the men in crisp blazers and even crisper trousers. The woman had on linen blouses and skirts, with hats with turned-up brims, and the children were as clean as their parents, with the girls wearing smocked cotton dresses. The place reeked of money and Old World etiquette.