Before the Dawn

by Candace Camp

  She opened her legs, and he came into her, fitting into the tight silken cocoon of her center. Again the knowledge came—she was his. And immediately an answering flash of realization—he was hers. Philippe began to move within her, no longer a man or an individual, but a fire that was part of her fire. A single soaring heat that grew past all bearing until at last it exploded, shooting them out of themselves and through an eternity of thundering, sparkling sensations so intensely pleasurable that the two of them felt as if they might die.

  But then they were safely home, sinking down into the softness of the bed, bathed with the warm light of reality. Arms wrapped around each other, they slept.

  *****

  It was twilight outside when Alyssa awoke. The room was dim. She felt a little sore and tired and glowing. She smiled and pushed her hair back from her face, looking over at Philippe. He lay sprawled on his stomach, arms flung out above his head. A day-long shadow of beard darkened his jaw. His eyelashes lay thick and black against his cheek, softening the straight-edged planes of his face. Alyssa ran her hand lightly across his hair. It was thick and springy to her touch, and she tangled her fingers in it.

  Philippe’s eyelids fluttered open. The pale, vivid greenness of his eyes startled her. He smiled. “Bonjour.”

  “Bon soir,” Alyssa corrected teasingly. “We must have slept for quite a while.”

  He rolled over onto his back and crossed his arms behind his head, looking at her with a certain male satisfaction. “You tired me out.” His grin was full of meaning. “Besides, I haven’t slept well the past few nights.”

  “Oh, really?” Alyssa arched one brow. “They say the wicked don’t rest well.”

  “Wicked!” His eyes were alight with amusement. “I?”

  “Yes, you. A man with wicked intentions of taking my virtue.”

  One of his arms snaked out and wrapped around her. He pulled her back flat on the bed and turned to rest on his elbow, looming over her, all in one smooth motion. “You’re right. I’m happy to take your virtue.” He kissed her ear. “And I’ll take your sins as well.” He kissed her forehead. “Your joys.” He kissed her eyelid. “Your pains.” He kissed her cheek. “I’ll take all of you. That’s all I want. All of you.” He kissed her mouth.

  There was little talking after that, and it was a long time before they rose from their bed. Philippe made love to her with the leisure he had wanted to before, exploring and experimenting, discovering each other’s bodies with all the wonder that only lovers can attain. Afterward, as Alyssa lay sweetly tired and sated in his arms, she knew that she was in love. In love with a man whom only three days before she had disliked on sight. She must be crazy. Alyssa smiled. The thought didn’t bother her at all.

  They had skipped lunch, and it was past time for supper, so hunger finally pulled them from their bed. Philippe put on a dark silk dressing gown and handed another to Alyssa. It was ludicrously big on her, falling down to her ankles, but Philippe wrapped it around her, fastened the sash firmly, and rolled the sleeves up so that her hands emerged. Hand in hand, they padded down the hall and through the dining room into the kitchen. Alyssa pulled up short. There was a man in the kitchen.

  Philippe didn’t seem particularly surprised to see him. “Oh, hello, Georges. We’re looking for some supper.”

  The man turned to him. He was short and bulky, with a square, rough face. His dark eyes swept over them without expression. “Very good, sir.”

  Alyssa blushed. She felt embarrassed to meet Philippe’s servant in this way, obviously just risen from an illicit bed. She could well imagine what he must think of her.

  “Alyssa, this is Georges, my valet—and most everything else as well,” Philippe introduced her cheerfully, apparently not in the least embarrassed. “Georges, this is Mademoiselle Alyssa Lambert.”

  “How do you do, mademoiselle?”

  Philippe frowned. “Is something the matter? You look rather long-faced to be meeting such a beautiful woman.”

  “I assume you haven’t heard.”

  Philippe went very still, and Alyssa’s heart picked up its beat. “Heard what?”

  “Hitler invaded Holland and Belgium today.”

  Philippe’s hand fell away from Alyssa’s waist. “Mon Dieu. It’s begun.”

  Chapter 7

  Alyssa felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. The war wasn’t phony now. German tanks were rolling into the Netherlands and Belgium, so much closer and more real than when they had invaded Poland or Norway. She had been to Holland and Belgium. She could imagine their roads choked with the German Army, their skies filled with the Luftwaffe planes.

  “The Dutch are flooding the land to try to stop them, but, of course…” Georges shrugged his shoulders eloquently. What could the tiny country do against the might of Germany?

  Philippe turned toward Alyssa. His face was suddenly years older. “You must leave France.”

  “What? Now?”

  “Yes. Get the first train out.”

  She drew back, hurt by his sudden forceful insistence that she go away. “Why?”

  “Why!” he repeated, his jaw dropping. “Because there’s a war on. They’re fighting. You can’t stay; you could get hurt.”

  Alyssa almost smiled in relief at the realization that he only wanted to protect her, not get rid of her. She’d been on her own for so long and had always been able to handle whatever came to her that it hadn’t even occurred to her that Philippe would be afraid for her and want to protect her. It engendered a warm glow deep inside.

  “But, Philippe,” she pointed out reasonably, “that’s in Holland. We’re in Paris. It’s miles and miles away. A different country.”

  “You saw what they did to Poland. Denmark was taken without a fight, and Norway almost as easily. It will be sheer luck if Holland and Belgium last two weeks. Do you realize where they’ll be when they conquer Belgium? Above the Maginot Line. Remember what Monsieur Gerard said the other evening? The line isn’t of much protection to us if they simply go around it.”

  “But I’m an American. We’re not at war with Germany. They wouldn’t do anything to me.”

  “Bombs and bullets don’t stop to ask for your passport.”

  “It’s miles and miles to the border, and the French and English armies are in between. Surely they’ll stop the Germans. Even if they don’t, it would take months for the Germans to reach Paris. I’d be able to leave before then. Every American in France will be trying to get out tomorrow anyway. It will be easier to leave later.”

  “That is true,” Philippe said, still frowning. “I have little faith in our ability to defeat the Germans; Gerard was right in what he said about the French military the other night. But still…there will be enough time to get you away. If it looks too chancy, we can retreat to my house in the country.” He hesitated, his face torn. “Will you promise you’ll leave as soon as it looks bad?”

  “Of course.”

  Philippe pulled her close to him, wrapping his arms around her, and kissed the top of her head. “I shouldn’t let you stay.” Guilt pricked at his conscience. He knew he’d let himself be persuaded because he didn’t want to part with her. Not just yet. Let her stay for a few days, even weeks. She would be safe that long, and when the time came he would see that she got to safety. Surely he could at least have this much.

  *****

  The prognosticators of gloom were correct. Holland surrendered in five days, and it was obvious that Belgium would not hold out much longer despite the French and English troops that rushed to their aid. The French established a line south of the Somme River and sent thirty-seven divisions to shore it up. The people of Paris looked at each other in shock. A line of defense within France? For so long they had lived secure in the knowledge that France was impregnable, safe behind its row of enormous forts. Now their security had been smashed. They waited, and fear rose.

  Alyssa felt guilty for her happiness. In the midst of t
he fear and tension, she was head over heels in love, and every day sparkled with life and hope. Alyssa knew that she had at last found the magical love that had eluded her all these years. She had no thought except for Philippe; her entire spirit and being were wrapped up in him. And she knew why she had never loved this way before; she had never known Philippe before. It was obvious to her that there could never be any man other than Philippe in her life.

  She was with him every possible moment, and when he was away from her at work, Alyssa did little but think about him. She had become the complete stereotype of a love-struck fool. And she didn’t care. They talked and laughed and made love, learning about each other with the thirst only lovers have.

  They went to the theater, to the cinema, to nightclubs. They dined at the finest restaurants in Paris and small cafes on the Left Bank. They strolled along the Seine, holding hands, aware of nothing but each other. They sat up till all hours, talking and sipping wine in a dark bistro. They danced, arms tight around each other, oblivious to the world around them. But most of the time they simply stayed inside Philippe’s apartment, too content in each other’s company to want anything more.

  At first Alyssa retained her room at the hotel, but she spent little time there. One evening, as they sat curled up cozily on the couch, Philippe twining her hair around his fingers, he asked casually, “Why don’t you move in here?”

  “What?” Alyssa glanced at him, her eyebrows rising.

  “I’d like for you to move out of the hotel. What point is there in keeping a room there?”

  “I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it. I haven’t been asked.”

  He smiled faintly. “Such a well-brought-up lady.” He leaned over and kissed her eyelids, his lips soft and feather light. “You fascinate me.”

  “Do I?” Alyssa smiled up into his face. Just to look at him made her heart squeeze with such happiness and love that it was almost painful.

  “You must know it.” His mouth brushed her cheek, her ear. “You’ve played havoc with my life. I can think of nothing but you. My secretary is certain I’ve gone mad; she comes into my office and finds me staring into space.” He nuzzled her neck. “Say you’ll come to live here with me. I want to think of you at home in my bed.”

  “Such possessiveness,” Alyssa retorted lightly, but her breath caught at the soft, sensual exploration of his lips.

  “Mmm. That’s true. You bring out the primitive male in me.” There was no exaggeration there. Philippe couldn’t think of any other woman who had aroused such feelings in him, such basic and intense desire. He wanted her every way imaginable—heart, body, soul—and he wanted her all the time. “Well, will you leave the hotel?”

  He spread one hand out across her chest and moved it slowly downward to cup her breast. Her nipple tightened beneath his touch, and she drew in a quick, sharp breath. “Yes, I will.”

  She moved out of the George V the next day. It was wonderful to be there in the apartment when he left each morning, to lie in bed, deliciously sated from a night of lovemaking, and watch him shave and dress. When he was ready to leave, he would come over to kiss her, very proper in his suit and tie, and Alyssa would smile, remembering how he had looked in bed hours earlier, flushed and naked. Sometimes she would decide teasingly to test her powers when he kissed her good-bye, and then the suit and tie would be rapidly discarded, and it would be another hour before he made it to work.

  During the day Alyssa had little to do. She went to fittings for the clothes she had purchased at the fashion houses. She and Lora made a few more halfhearted shopping expeditions and frequently got together for lunch or a bit of coffee at one of the many cafes all over Paris. Alyssa had been surprised when Lora and King didn’t leave Paris, but Lora told her with a comic roll of her eyes that Claude Freret had at last agreed to go to the United States. King wasn’t about to leave before Claude for fear the director would back out, and Claude was determined to sublet his apartment and sell or store his possessions before going, so Lora and King were cooling their heels, waiting for him. King, Lora reported, was going crazy away from his beloved studio and spent most of his time sending and receiving telegrams. The rest of the time he harassed Claude. But Lora loved Paris and was happy to remain longer, even with the threat of war hanging over them. After all, it would be months before the German Army could get as far as Paris. Even King agreed with that.

  It didn’t take long to prove them wrong. One day, less than two weeks after Holland surrendered to the Germans, Philippe returned to the apartment early. His face was drawn in grim lines, and Alyssa gasped and rose to her feet when he came in.

  “Philippe! What is it?” She hurried forward to take him in her arms.

  He laid his cheek against her hair, breathing in her sweet fragrance. He knew it wouldn’t be long now before he would never smell that scent again and feel Alyssa’s softness against his body. “Belgium has surrendered.”

  “What? Already?” Alyssa drew back to look up into his face. There was a depth of sadness and resignation there that she had never seen before.

  He nodded. “Yes. There’s worse. They didn’t even hold out long enough for their allies to get out their troops. The British Army and part of the French Army are trapped at Dunkirk.”

  “Oh, my God!”

  “Almost four hundred thousand men. Four hundred thousand!”

  “But the navy, the British Navy—can’t they get them out?”

  “That many? It would be impossible for all the fleet to get there in time to evacuate them. The navy can’t even get close enough to load them. They need smaller ships for that. It will be a debacle.” He ran his hands through his hair and walked past her into the room. “Now we can expect the Germans to pour into France.”

  Alyssa went cold. Philippe would want her to leave now. She had said she would when the danger drew near, and it was obvious that time was fast approaching. But she couldn’t leave Philippe! Her heart ached at the thought. She tried desperately to think of a good reason why it wasn’t necessary for her to leave.

  “You better pack your bags,” Philippe went on. “We’re leaving for my country house tomorrow. It’s in the Liore Valley, almost a hundred mile southwest of Paris. You should be safe there for a while.” He looked at her, pain blazing in his eyes, and she knew that Philippe wanted her to leave no more than she wanted to go.

  Alyssa sighed with relief and went to him. At least they had a little more time together. She slipped her arms around his waist and leaned against his chest, enjoying the security of his heavy, steady heartbeat. “All right. I’ll be ready tomorrow morning.”

  *****

  Alyssa went by the George V to urge King and Lora to come with them to Philippe’s country home, where they would be safer. Now that Germany was poised to attack France, it was only a matter of time before the Luftwaffe began to bomb Paris. King was busy helping Claude, and Lora was certain he wouldn’t leave until the director came with him. “You know him,” she told Alyssa with a smile. “He’s like a dog with a bone.”

  “Then you come by yourself. I’m sure King would rather have you safely away.”

  “Probably. But I don’t want to leave him. Who knows what he’d take it into his mind to do next? Besides, I wouldn’t do that to two lovers about to be parted.”

  Alyssa knew how Lora felt. If Philippe were remaining behind in Paris, she would have stayed, too. So she wrote down the name of the village near Philippe’s house and the highways to take to reach it and handed the slip of paper to Lora. “Here. This is where I’ll be. If you need to get out of Paris, just come and ask the way to Philippe Michaude’s house.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Lora smiled. “Here’s hoping we won’t need it.”

  “Yeah.” Alyssa hugger her, and Lora returned the embrace fiercely. Tears glistened on their lashes. It was impossible not to feel as though the world were coming to an end.

  The next morning Georges left early with most of t
heir luggage, taking the train. Philippe and Alyssa followed in the Bugatti. They whisked out of Paris and climbed into the foothills beyond. Philippe stopped the car on the crest of a hill, and they looked back at Paris, spread out before them in the sun, a jumble of buildings on rolling land. Alyssa felt a pang of sadness. She had always loved Paris, and these past few weeks had made it very special to her. She thought of the tree-lined avenues where she and Philippe had strolled, the romantic small cafes and bistros where they had sat and talked and sipped their drinks, never tiring of gazing at each other or hearing the other’s voice. She thought of their meeting at Maxim’s, of dancing with him at Shéhérazade. Tears filled her eyes.

  “Nom de Dieu!” Philippe muttered, scowling at the city, and slammed the car into gear.

  They drove out of the wooded rolling hills and into the flat farmland of the Beauce, past stretches of broken dark dirt with fragile new plants beginning to shoot up. In the center of the fields stood narrow limestone farmhouses with charcoal-gray slate roofs, and clustering around them several other smaller houses and outbuildings, each farm a small community of its own.

  They crossed the Loire River in the afternoon and drove alongside it for a time, passing small farmhouses and the wide, palatial châteaus of royalty and nobility in times past. The area was more heavily wooded than the region they had passed through earlier, with fruit orchards and dense stands of sycamore, oak, and poplar. Philippe turned onto a narrow dirt lane lined with tall, thin poplars. At the end of it were a few outbuildings and a gracefully symmetrical château of white limestone and black slate. It was not as large as most of the palaces Alyssa had glimpse along the river, but, standing framed by the towering dark pines, it was impressive.