Roses Collection: Boxed Set

by Freda, Paula

  "Maria, for heaven’s sake, lower your voice.”

  Her dark brown eyes speared through Val’s father, then darted over Harriet, examining her from head to toe and not failing to see the girl’s disturbed state. "Are you the one he was marooned with?”

  Harriet nodded, suddenly feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Maria glared at her husband. She was only an inch or so taller than Harriet, but the hauteur she exhibited lent her added height.

  "Why the hell didn’t you tell me Val had been located?”

  "I had to make sure that it was our son,” Michael replied, subsiding into a chair. Maria sighed in exasperation as if to say, what can you expect from a man, and turned her attention to Val.

  "Mom, dad was only trying to save you grief. You know how you get. What would have been your reaction if it wasn’t me?”

  Maria’s gaze froze and an instant later her eyes grew moist. Harriet recognized that look. The woman thought in pictures, like she often did herself. "Mom, it’s okay. It is me, and I’m fine,” Val quickly added, caressing her plump cheek.

  No doubt about it, his parents loved him. Harriet was content. There was no need for her to remain. As soon as they transferred him to the hospital in Nice, she could leave and begin to forget.

  "What do I call you?” Maria inquired, startling Harriet.

  She answered politely, giving her full name, "Harriet Henderson.”

  "Are your parents anyone important?”

  Val’s father glanced sharply at his wife.

  Harriet replied, "No. My mother is a housekeeper and my father is a handyman. They’re employed by the Carlsons, a very old and distinguished family in Garrison, New York.”

  "Never heard of them,” Maria said bluntly. "Are you and my son involved?”

  "I’ve asked her to marry me.” Val said.

  Maria raised an eyebrow. She inquired of Harriet, "Well, what’s your answer?” Harriet lifted her chin. "No. To both questions.” She saw the disappointment in Michael’s eyes.

  "One last question,” Maria said.

  Harriet steeled herself.

  "Did you sleep with my son and are you pregnant?”

  "Maria, for heaven’s sake!” Michael stood up. He appeared ready to usher his wife from the room.

  A jumble of emotions Harriet couldn’t sort made her snap, "Again, No, to both questions. I’ve never slept with anyone!” Those last words were spoken with such vehemence that even Val was startled.

  Unexpectedly, Maria’s gaze softened. "Forgive me for my bluntness, but when it comes to family, I never stand on ceremony.”

  "I understand,” Harriet answered, holding her head erect. Maria watched her a moment longer, then she turned to her son. "She is attractive and she has good sense. But then you’ve always had good taste.” Val’s face turned red, not for himself, but for the young frightened girl he was in love with.

  "That’s enough, mother. Can’t you see you’re embarrassing her?” The Sands trio turned to Harriet, but she was gone. She had quietly slipped out of the room.

  Harriet left the ship, wishing she were dead. Why hadn’t the lynx attacked her instead? Val would have been rescued eventually. He’d be free of her, for most certainly she would not have survived the attack. She walked along the Promenade des Anglais, casting cursory glances at the tall palms and vibrant flowerbeds dividing the wide boulevard that ran parallel to the seashore. When she tired, she entered the beach and crunched across the pebbled front until she reached the water, clear, the color of vibrant aquamarine. Foamy wavelets licked at her sandaled feet. She picked up a handful of small, odd shaped colorful stones and flung them one by one into the water. They splashed and sank to the bottom.

  The scent of scarlet geraniums, green ivy and aquamarine seawater did nothing to lull the anguish in her mind. In fact it heightened her loneliness. Everything around her was so beautiful, but inside she felt devastated. Because she who had sworn off all men was now hopelessly and ironically in love with one of them. For a moment when she had stood beside Val and heard the sincerity in his declaration of love, followed by his father’s approval, the temptation to accept his marriage proposal had nearly overwhelmed her, until his mother entered the room. Harriet spun on her heel and looked wildly about her. She had no money, no special talents. She knew no one in Nice, but she must find a way to get back to the States and reassemble the pieces of her life, without Val. The Riviera was filled with casinos and restaurants, and at least one of them was sure to need a waitress. "Goodbye, Thorvald Sands,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Gerard Gaston locked the front door to his restaurant. He paused to look through the glass at the pebbled beach beyond the boulevard and the moonlit waters of the Mediterranean. "Belle,” he sighed. As he turned, his gaze rested upon the young waitress tidying her station. "Belle,” he whispered, "mais triste,” and wondered how on earth he would have managed without her these past weeks. He recalled the day of his grand opening, the very day she had come into his establishment and asked for a job. Skeptical at first of hiring a foreigner, but in need of help as only two of the five waitresses he’d hired had shown up for work, he was glad now for employing her on the spot, because she had proven invaluable, her experience immediately apparent.

  Today, the busiest and most hectic day since his opening, Gerard felt sure would have ended in chaos, but for the American; she was fantastic. She handled three times her tables as well as lent a hand to the other girls.

  "Harriette,” he called, walking toward her.

  He was not a tall man, but he was lean, in his late thirties, and he carried himself well, with that certain distinction of presence that made him an attractive man. Harriet glanced up from her work and smiled warmly, if somewhat haggardly. She owed her employer a multitude of thanks. He’d enabled her to quietly disappear the day of Val’s admittance to the hospital. Walking along the Promenade, confusion and unhappiness tugging at her heart, she had spied the sign announcing the restaurant’s grand opening. Counting on a new business needing extra help, she inquired within for a job — anything, dishwasher, porter, floor scrubber. Gerard seemed a kindly disposed man and her premise proved correct. He needed help.

  She began working immediately, her years of experience at waitressing standing well in her stead. She was fast, her mind alert and capable of handling large orders, often without a pencil and pad. Gerard’s words of praise that first evening gave her the courage to ask for an advance on her salary to enable her to rent a room. She explained her destitute situation, but said nothing about her past. The gentle Gerard, with the good sense not to pry into her private life, gave her the advance, and rented her a room behind the restaurant, charging her a pittance, provided she continued to work for him.

  "Harriette, you work too hard,” he scolded benevolently on this busiest of days. "Enough for tonight. You need to rest.”

  "Yes, you’re right.” Harriet straightened and rubbed the small of her back. She was tired, though tonight sleep might not come easily. Early one morning two weeks ago as she strolled along the Promenade, Val, driving a Mercedes, spotted her. The moving traffic prevented him from leaving the car and coming after her as the determined look in his eyes said he was considering doing. That evening she nearly dropped a tray of food as she caught sight of him among the scores of seated customers. He was enjoying dinner and watching her.

  He did not attempt to speak to her. After finishing his meal, he left and she breathed easier, though she admitted to herself that a part of her felt hurt and saddened he had not sought her out. She missed him, a lot, yet she wanted to be free of him. The problem was too complex to puzzle over while she worked. But after that sighting, Val frequented the restaurant almost every night. Harriet remained in Gerard’s employ, her necessity to his establishment growing daily. Val never sat at her station, but neither did his gaze leave her. Frustration was the word Harriet applied to her feelings as she began to resent his continued silence. After six months on an island togethe
r, he could at least extend a greeting.

  It was near closing time when Jesse Mathieson sat down at his favorite table. He glanced briefly at the view afforded by the picture window and his mouth twisted with distaste. The scene outside was wet and limp. Business would be poor tonight. The tall palms and the smaller plants dividing the boulevard drooped pitifully. An ugly grey mist hovered, painting the beach an indistinguishable blur. Jesse adjusted his tie and cuffs and ran a pale, lean hand over his dark mane. Checking that no one was watching, he dipped his fingertips into the glass of drinking water Harriet had placed before him and smoothed the splashes of silver at his temples and sideburns. He was not aware that the proprietor standing just outside the kitchen noticed his action and was frowning, not because of the fingertips-water-glass caper, but because Gerard Gaston was extremely wary of Jesse Mathieson. The man’s thin lips might spread in the widest smile conceivable, and his pearly white symmetrical teeth add luster to his cosmopolitan masculine features, but the genteel, ingratiating manners he displayed, especially when Harriette served him, were not fooling the perceptive Gerard. This Mathieson, he was shrewd and it was Harriette he was after. "Ah!” Gerard grunted in disgust. Monsieur Mathieson was definitely a shrewd one. A smile here, an understanding nod there, and in two weeks Mathieson knew more about Harriette than Gerard had been able to discover in months of employment. Mathieson had the poor girl believing his concern for her was sincere. "Bonsoir, Monsieur Mathieson,” Gerard greeted, approaching his table. "The weather, she is an atrocite, no?”

  "Yes, she is, but there are compensations. Your excellent food, for instance, and your lovely waitresses, especially the American.”

  "Ah yes, Harriette.” There was little Gerard could do or say. Harriette did not seem to mind the extra attention and the open compliments Mathieson lavished upon her. "Ah, here she is. I will leave you in her capable hands. I have an important telephone call to make.”

  "Jesse, right on time,” Harriet smiled warmly, pad and pencil in hand.

  Gerard eyed them both disconcertedly, but said nothing, retreating to the side of the restaurant where a door opened into his office.

  "Well now, how is my sad-faced Harriet this evening?” Jesse began.

  "I’m here to take your order, not discuss my personal problems.”

  "A girl as beautiful as you shouldn’t have problems.”

  "There are far worse troubles in this world than my unimportant ones.”

  Mathieson arched a silvering eyebrow. "And as you said the other evening, you are just a pebble, a grain of sand, an infinitesimal atom, in life’s neverending cycle.”

  "A mouthful for me. I was never that good in English in school. But we’ve already established that I’m an oppressed female. Now, what would you like to drink?”

  "All right. I shan’t pry. I’ll take a gin and tonic. Join me.”

  "Mr. Mathieson — I’m working!”

  "There are no other customers left. The kitchen is about to close. Why is it proving so difficult for me to make friends with you?” Harriet laughed. She liked the cut of his grey pinstripe suit, the light blue silk of his vest and the firewood warmth of his brown eyes. For weeks now he had singled her out, commenting on her dark sad eyes. She kept a smile on her face for the benefit of the clientele, but Jesse saw through the mask and he was not one to mince words. She did not know if he was American, but he spoke English well without a trace of accent. He offered her his friendship, someone to talk to fluently in her own language, and a third uninvolved party in whom she could confide. The other waitresses employed with her spoke little or no English and she refused to burden the gentle Gerard with her problems.

  On the cruise ship it had been easy to talk to Val, but that was before Henderson Sands, before she had run away, before the silent treatment. "I could use a shoulder to lean on,” Harriet admitted, finally relenting as she served Jesse his meal a short time later.

  Jesse beamed. "Then have lunch with me tomorrow.”

  Tapping the eraser of her pencil against her lips, she asked uneasily, "You’re willing to meet me strictly on a platonic basis?”

  "My word of honor, a friendly tête-à-tête.”

  She still held reservations about meeting Mathieson outside her workplace. But her need for companionship of late preyed on her nerves. Thorvald Sands entering the restaurant and seating himself at a table opposite her station decided her. "Okay, two o’clock, where?”

  Mathieson relieved her of the pad and pencil and scribbled down an address on the cardboard backing. "It’s a unique cafe, about a mile from here, famous for its picturesque terrace and secluded booths.

  "Secluded booths?” Harriet raised an eyebrow.

  "We will of course sit in the open,” Jesse reassured her. Harriet turned and snuck a glance at Val. He was watching her, intently. Jesse, too, noticed. "That man, does he know you.”

  Val rose and started toward her. Well, she thought, at last, not sure whether to feel relieved, or regretful, because it was clear from the severe expression on his face that he was angry. In all the months she had spent with him, only one other time had she seen that expression on his face, on the cruise ship, the night of the storm. Even his clothes seemed angry. In place of the light pastel colors he favored, tonight he was a picture of tough-nosed sophistication; his muscular build contained in a tailored brown blazer and beige trousers.

  Gerard reached her first. "If you wish to leave early, Margo can take over for you.”

  "Why would I want to leave early?” Harriet asked.

  "To spend time with your fiancé.”

  "And whom might that be?” she inquired solicitously as Val reached her side.

  Gerard said, "Unlike you, Harriette, Monsieur Sands has confided in me.”

  "I see,” she remarked, perturbed. "Even the gentle Gerard was now conspiring against her. "But how do you know I want to spend time with him?”

  "By the way you look at each other. Each night you study the clock expectantly, and you do not see the light in your eyes when Monsieur Sands enters the dining room. Monsieur Sands is a fine young man, of good family. Monsieur Mathieson is a good customer and I am content to serve him meals as I do all customers. But Harriette, do you know who he is?”

  "He is a customer, as you said, but I also recognize a free spirit, a bon vivant, a friend.” Why was Gerard interfering with her life? Why was Val letting him do all the talking?

  "Harriette, as I suspected, you are an innocent. And your friend here, your free spirit and bon vivant, can detect one in an instant.”

  "Why are you embarrassing Jesse?” Harriet demanded. Mathieson might enjoy flirting some, but that did not give Gerard the right to malign his character.

  "Does he have to spell it out for you,” Val said.

  The sound of his voice shocked her. And soothed the disoriented part of her mind that craved to hear it again. "Spell what out?” she asked, exasperated.

  Gerard spoke quietly. "I will put it as delicately as I can. Monsieur Jesse Mathieson is a solicitor—of free spirits—for the pleasure of bons vivants.” Another word came to mind and Harriet stammered, "N-No..... I-I mean—" She looked at Mathieson, pleadingly.

  He shrugged, smiling, and spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "Gerard and his exaggerated morals. You’re not the first of whose services he’s deprived me. You’re alone, or so I thought,” he said, glancing at Val, "and in need of a friend. I would have found you many friends.”

  Val’s temper exploded and he grabbed Jesse by the lapels of his jacket, yanked him out of his chair, and held him dangling while he snarled, "You ever come near my fiancée again and she’ll be the last you ever try to snare with that pretty face. You certainly erred in thinking she was alone. She has parents and kin, and friends who wouldn’t rest until you were behind bars where you belong.”

  They were attracting attention, and Gerard feared someone might call the police. As much as he would like to see Monsieur Mathieson arrested, he knew from past events
that Mathieson had friends in high places. Monsieur Sands and Harriet were foreigners, mostly ignorant of the laws of his country when it came to such matters. It was best if Monsieur Sands took Harriette back with him to America. "Please, please, do not cause a scene. It is bad for my business. We have accomplished what we set out to do. Harriette is warned. I think Monsieur Mathieson understands clearly he is not to annoy my help further. Let him finish his meal. I beg you Monsieur Sands.”

  Val breathed deeply attempting to control himself. He put Jesse down. Jesse straightened his suit and sat down as if what had just occurred, was not new or necessarily important. Harriet stared open-mouthed, horrified. Who had she almost tangled with? Self-righteous indignation and pent-up emotions stirred inside her. Miserable creature, she tagged Mathieson, and slapped him across the face. The monster surfaced. Where the condemnation of Gerard and Val had only elicited indifference, Harriet’s reaction stirred the private hate and contempt he held for women. How dare she, a miserable nothing. He stood up and raised his hand to reciprocate, but Val pulled Harriet behind him.

  Mathieson stayed his hand. The man was twice his size. He hissed, "Keep the sow, I have plenty others.”

  Val pulled back his arm to deliver a punch. Gerard grabbed him, attempting to calm him. Mathieson scowled and turning left the restaurant before the fool could shrug free, forget all propriety and lay hands upon him.

  Harriet’s stomach churned, her eyes burned with tears of mortification. Once again she felt small and inadequate. How could she have been so stupid as to be taken in by Mathieson’s dishonesty? She bit her lower lip fighting to control the trembling that threatened to overwhelm her.

  The sight of Harriet’s shaken expression and her paling face, calmed Val and he turned his attention to her completely. "You’re coming home to the States with me. I don’t want you subject to this type of danger any longer.”

  As if it were up to him— "Look, Val, I’m grateful to you and Gerard for showing me the truth about Jesse. I won’t make the same mistake twice, but no one controls my life but me.”