Before the Dawn

by Candace Camp

  They returned to the hotel before midnight, her father beaming with pleasure at the fact that he had cornered his elusive official and wrung a promise from him to meet the following morning. “Dinner tomorrow evening?” Grant asked as he left her at her bedroom door. “I’m afraid I’ll have to work straight through lunch, but I should be free by seven tomorrow night.”

  “Sounds nice. I’ll be ready.”

  He frowned. “I apologize for having so little time right now.”

  “I promise, I’m quite capable of amusing myself.”

  “Yes, I suppose it’s a bit late for me to worry about neglecting you,” Grant admitted with a wry smile. “Love you, Lissy.”

  “I love you, too.”

  *****

  Another spray of flowers greeted her the next morning, this time a delicate blending of spring blooms. There was no accompanying card. Alyssa called down to have another vase sent up and wondered how long Philippe would continue to pursue her. She had to admit that her resolve was weakening in the face of his persistence.

  Had she been too hasty in judging him? Lora was right to say she didn’t know anything about him really. She had labelled Philippe a playboy because he was handsome, wealthy, smooth and, well, French, which was admittedly biased and not really proof of anything. Nor did the fact that his kisses made her knees melt mean that he was a rogue. And she couldn’t deny the unfairness of assuming he was a seducer because he was good-looking; that was, after all, exactly the sort of reasoning men used to think Alyssa was promiscuous.

  Perhaps it wouldn’t do any harm to see him again, provided he accepted that she didn’t want to be rushed or chased or lured into his bed. She wanted only…only what? A picture of him came immediately into her mind. Tall, his dark hair tumbling casually down, his eyes watching her with smoky interest. She remembered the way his hand had moved up to impatiently to push back his hair. She remembered his hand on her shoulder, his thumb slowly caressing her neck.

  Alyssa shivered. She’d better think about it carefully before she agreed to see him again. Otherwise she was going to find herself in trouble.

  She went out again with Lora, but not to the Place Vendôme to buy jewelry as Lora had laughingly threatened the day before. Instead, dressed in casual dresses and low-heeled pumps, wide straw hats framing their faces, they took a taxi to the Left Bank and lunched at the Café de Flore. Sitting at one of the small tables clustered under the sidewalk canopy, they ate escargot in a buttery herb sauce and washed it down with a dry white wine while they watched the parade of unusual characters who flocked to the Latin Quarter.

  Later they strolled through the incredibly narrow, twisting medieval streets, peeking into jumbled shops and dim cafes, and joined the youthful crowd along the “Boul’Mich.” They wandered into the Montparnasse, even more heavily populated by artists, looking at paintings sold on the sidewalk, often hung on the black iron spikes of fences. Late in the afternoon, footsore and weary from their walk, they found a taxi and returned to their hotel, where Alyssa had to rush to get ready before her father called for her.

  Grant took her to the Hotel Meurice for supper, but he was quiet and abstracted throughout the meal. Alyssa presumed that his meeting with the government official this morning had not gone as he had hoped. New lines creased his forehead, and for once he looked his age.

  “Has it been bad?” she asked quietly. “Your mission here?”

  Grant looked surprised, then sighed. “Not good, I’m afraid. I can’t talk about it, of course. But I—things don’t look hopeful. I’ve been in Germany and here, and the contrast isn’t heartening. I’m afraid France is going to find herself on the road to hell soon. Hitler’s a madman. But clever, too. And Germany’s strong. United. I don’t suppose France will ever be in that state.”

  Alyssa smiled faintly. “Probably not.”

  “I’m afraid I have bad news for you.”

  “What?”

  “I’m leaving Paris tomorrow morning.”

  “Another mysterious meeting at someone’s country home?”

  “No. I’ve been called home. There’s nothing more I can do here, and he has another job for me.” The “he” Alyssa knew to be the President, to whom her father reported directly, even though he ostensibly worked for the Secretary of State.

  “Oh, I see.” Again she experienced the familiar, quickly suppressed sense of betrayal. “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I. I hoped for a little time together. However, it looks as though I’ll be in D.C. for some time now. I can come up to New York to see you.”

  “I’d like that.”

  “Will you stay in Paris long?”

  She had planned to stay two weeks, hoping for a nice, long visit with her father. But now there was little reason to remain. “I don’t know. A few days, I suppose. I have fittings for some dresses I bought.”

  Grant smiled, and he looked less tired and old. “Following in the family tradition, I see. Your mother would have bought out the fashion houses here if she could.” He shook his head reminiscently. “She looked so good in those clothes, though, it was probably worth the cost.” He paused and studied his wineglass, twisting the stem between his fingers. “How is your mother?”

  “Fine, last time I saw her. Still living with Gran.” Grant look up questioningly, and Alyssa added, “Yeah. She’s still drinking. On and off, as always.”

  He shook his head, and his voice roughened. “Such a waste. She was a beautiful woman. I loved her a great deal. Still do, I suppose.”

  “I know.”

  They didn’t linger over dinner. Alyssa knew that Grant probably had a number of things to clear up before he left the next morning. They returned to the hotel early, and Grant escorted her inside the lobby, leaving the taxi waiting for him.

  “I’ll see you up to your room,” he offered.

  “That’s all right. I think I can make it from the lobby to the room without mishap.”

  He smiled down at her. “If you’re sure.” Grant leaned down to kiss her on the cheek, and Alyssa threw her arms around him.

  “Take care, Dad.”

  “You, too, sweetheart. I’ll see you in New York.”

  Alyssa nodded, swallowing her tears. She watched him exit, then turned toward the elevators. As she walked across the elegant lobby, a man rose from a brocade chair and planted himself in her path.

  “Philippe!”

  *****

  Philippe Michaude had spent a restless night alone in his bed after he parted from Alyssa. He awakened yesterday morning tired, irritable, and certain he’d been a fool. He realized from the beginning that Alyssa wouldn’t be an easy conquest, but his pounding need for her had made him blunt and clumsy. He’d been off kilter from the moment he saw her and he made several amateurish moves before they arrived at her hotel room. Once there, he stumbled even more. He shouldn’t have tried to follow her into her room. He should have waited for an invitation.

  The worst outcome would have been that she offered none, but he at least could have managed to arrange another date. Instead, he rushed her, then compounded his sins by arguing with her. You’d think he’d learned nothing of sophistication since he escaped the streets of Lyons.

  He knew he’d lost his chance with Alyssa, and he told himself to put it down to a lesson learned and forget her. But he found that was impossible. Two hours after he went to his office he ordered flowers sent to her room. Shortly after that he began phoning her. Clearly she had given orders not to accept his calls. Today he sent her another bouquet of flowers and when his calls went unanswered, he decided to talk to her face to face.

  When he learned that she was indeed out of the hotel, not hiding from him, he sat down to wait in the lobby. He’d been here for over an hour, alternating between gloomy imaginings of what she was doing and with whom and astonishment that he was behaving in such an irrational fashion. He was not a jealous man nor one who pined romantically after a woman. Both those
things had always seemed a fool’s game. Yet here he was, wondering if she had come to Paris because of another man or if Kingsley Gerard had arranged some intimate ‘business discussion’ with her or…

  She walked into the lobby, her arm entwined with that of a handsome middle-aged man, and Philippe’s chest turned cold. Alyssa was smiling at the older man in a way she had not once smiled at him the other night. She sparkled in this man’s company; her face was filled with warmth and love as she gazed up at him. The man kissed her chastely on the cheek, and she responded by throwing her arms around him and hugging him uninhibitedly in the middle of the lobby. How could she waste herself on such an old man?

  She started across the lobby, and Philippe rose to intercept her, churning with resentment and desire. “Hello, Alyssa. Did you have a pleasant evening?”

  “Yes, very. Thank you.” She said nothing more, simply stood there coolly waiting for him to continue.

  “Why haven’t you answered my calls?” He blurted out, realizing even as he said it that this was not the way to woo a woman back.

  “Was that you? The desk clerk said the caller wouldn’t leave a message.”

  “I presumed you wouldn’t call back if I had.” He paused. “Would you?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps not.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about him?” Another stupid way to go, but Philippe could hold it back no longer.

  “Tell you about who?” Alyssa looked puzzled.

  “Him!” Philippe nodded toward the front door. “The man you were with. Why didn’t you tell me that you were already…”

  “Already what?” Alyssa’s eyes began to dance in that way he had found so bewitching just a few nights ago. “Already having an affair?”

  He nodded shortly, surprised at how much it hurt to see her amusement.

  “Monsieur Michaude, you have a lamentable habit of leaping to conclusions: I’m an actress, so I’m lacking in morals. I have dinner with a man, so I’m his mistress. In fact, he’s my father!”

  “What?” Relief swept Philippe, and he half laughed. “He’s your father?”

  “Yes. Grant Lambert.”

  Philippe grinned. He felt years lighter. Still smiling, he shook his head ruefully. “Obviously I have made a bad start again. I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to display my bad temper. I came to apologize for my bad manners the other evening.”

  “You seem to be positively full of bad traits.” Alyssa’s tone was teasing.

  “And, for some incomprehensible reason, they are appallingly evident when I’m near you.” Philippe got an answering smile from Alyssa and it stirred something in his chest. “I came to persuade you to forgive me. I hoped we could have dinner together, talk. I wanted to ask for another chance.”

  “I’ve already eaten.”

  Her hedging pleased him. She wasn’t refusing, she was negotiating. “We could have a drink. Go to a club—or the cinema. We have English-language cinema here.”

  “A drink would be fine. As long as I don’t have to fight off advances all evening.”

  “I promise I will not so much as coax or cajole. All right?”

  “All right.”

  He stepped closer, and his voice lowered. “At least, not tonight.”

  Alyssa felt the pull of his sexuality. Actually, he didn’t need to coax or cajole. His mere presence was temptation enough. “I understand,” she replied softly. “We’re only calling a temporary truce.”

  “Please. Why must it be a battle?”

  Alyssa smiled faintly. “I’m not sure. But somehow I think you’re a threat.”

  “I wouldn’t hurt you.”

  “Perhaps you wouldn’t mean to.”

  Warmth stole through him at her words. She couldn’t be afraid that he would physically hurt her; the only threat he could represent was emotional hurt. Heartbreak. So her resistance wasn’t because she disliked him or was indifferent to him but exactly the opposite—because she feared she could like him too much.

  “Did you really mean to apologize?” Alyssa changed the subject.

  “For desiring you? No. I’m only human. But for upsetting you, yes. I acted badly; I should not have argued with you. I shouldn’t have pushed. I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?”

  Alyssa nodded. Forgiving him was alarmingly easy. She slipped her hand through the crook of his arm, and they started across the lobby.

  Chapter 6

  They went to a bistro not far from the hotel. It was small and quiet, and they were able to find a table in the corner where they could sit secluded from the rest of the patrons. They ordered drinks, and Philippe lit a cigarette. He settled back in his chair, arms on the table, careful not to touch her. Perversely, Alyssa found herself wondering what it would be like to touch him—to put her hand on his, to slide her fingertips along the straight line of his jaw, to tangle her fingers in his hair.

  “So,” she said, pulling her eyes away from him, “what do you do? You’ve told me little about yourself, you know.”

  He shrugged. “There’s little interesting to tell.”

  “What sort of business are you in?”

  “My company makes trucks and heavy machinery—among them army trucks, tanks, caissons for artillery.”

  “I see. You have a plant near here?”

  “Just north of Paris. My offices are here; I have other interests as well. An electronics firm.”

  “Radios?”

  “Among other things.”

  “Are you from Paris?”

  “No. Lyons. Have you ever been there?”

  Alyssa shook her head. “Just to travel through it. Does your family live there still?”

  “I have no family.”

  She blinked. “None?”

  “I never knew my father, and my mother died when I was fourteen years old. I had a younger brother, but he died as a child.”

  “How awful for you.”

  He shrugged. “And you? What about your family? Is your father vacationing with you in Paris?”

  “No. I don’t think he ever vacations. He’s on business, as always, and he’s leaving tomorrow.”

  “What kind of business does he do?”

  “Something with the State Department.”

  “What is that?”

  “Foreign affairs. Diplomatic matters.”

  “I see. Then you must have had a well-traveled childhood. Yes?”

  “Part of the time. When I was younger, if Dad was posted to a particular country for relatively long periods of time, we went with him. But later he became something of a troubleshooter. He’d be sent wherever there was a problem, maybe only for a few days or weeks. Then, of course, I couldn’t travel with him. I went to boarding schools a lot. First in New England and later in Switzerland.”

  “Boarding schools.” He smiled faintly. “Doesn’t sound like the flamboyant past of an actress.”

  “My family was horrified when I told them I was going into acting.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “It’s a problem both ways. My grandmother and aunts and uncles all think I’ve blackened the Lambert name. People in the theater assume I’m just a debutante playing at acting, that I’m not serious and will grow tired of it and go back to marry some polo-playing heir. It’s kept me from getting more than one job.”

  “No wonder you were—ah, touchy about being an actress.”

  “Does it change what you think of me, knowing that I’m the daughter of a diplomat as well as an actress?” Alyssa asked a little defiantly.

  “Of course. It makes you even more fascinating. A puzzle. I want you more than ever. Sorry—I know I’m not supposed to say things like that tonight. But I couldn’t be honest and not say it.” He smiled. “It’s very hard to keep my promise to you. I can’t stop wanting you, can’t stop thinking of what it would be like to be with you.”

  Alyssa felt the pull one felt standing atop a tall building, the curious mingling o
f fear and intrigue. She looked away from his eyes and tried to think of practicalities. “Are you married?” she asked.

  He looked surprised, then chuckled. “Ah, you think I am the perennially unfaithful Frenchman. Sorry to disappoint you, but, not I am not married. I was once, many years ago, but she died.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “We were young when we got married, very much in love. Solange was like spring, like sunshine. Completely frivolous—very pretty, always happy, never serious. She was not at all refined; neither was I. We were crude and lusty and very full of life. She died in a car accident when she was twenty-three. I was twenty-five at the time. I had always been ambitious and worked hard, but after that I drove myself. There was nothing for me but my work. Poor Solange; she would have had great fun with the money.”

  “And you never remarried?”

  “No. At first I was too filled with grief; it was many years before I got over her death. By then I had gotten too old and cynical. My standards are too high, perhaps. I haven’t met a woman I want to wake up beside for the rest of my life.” At least not until now. Where had that thought come from? He wasn’t interested in Alyssa in that way. This wild, intense feeling he had for her was only desire, greater than usual simply because she was an unusually desirable woman. Once he satisfied his desire, her attractions would fade. It would be as it always was. As it had to be. There could be no possibility of anything permanent between them.

  “And you?” he asked, turning the subject back to her. “Are you married? Engaged?”

  “No. Never have been.”

  “You haven’t been in love?”

  “A little, a time or two. But it never seemed to last. I’ve always been more interested in my career than in marriage.”

  “Other actresses marry.”

  “Yes. But it’s hard.”

  “Tell me about this time or two.”

  “What? Oh, the men I was a little in love with?”

  “Yes. Them.” He lit a cigarette, watching her closely. He did not touch her or say anything sexual, yet sensuality hung thick on the air between them. Alyssa could feel the tension drawing out between them, taut and compelling; she was liquid inside.