by Jan Moran
She smiled, pleased at his response. “This is where I work at home when inspiration strikes. My main laboratory is in my office building, not far from the Flower Pot, but I like to dabble here after everyone is asleep and I have time to think and imagine and create. It’s always been my private room.”
He peered in through the doorway. The room was tidy, but her creativity was evident. On one side sat a small perfumer’s organ, with neat rows of amber bottles, and across from it was a drafting table. A pair of comfortable brocade chairs, a stack of books, a potted palm, beautifully framed impressionist paintings, and a phonograph completed the comfortable room.
“What’s this?” Jon asked, motioning to an open sketch book on the drafting table.
“These are ideas for evening gowns for my winter collection,” she said, showing him her sketches, and touching a stack of jewel-toned fabric swatches as she spoke. She felt Jon’s eyes on her, and their fingers brushed as she showed him her drawings.
Jon asked several questions, and he seemed genuinely interested in everything she was doing, unlike Max or Cameron had been.
While they talked, she opened a set of French doors to the backyard, where a swimming pool sparkled in the sunlight, a waterfall cascaded with a pleasant rippling sound, and a soft breeze billowed the drapes of an open-air pool house.
Jon turned around, taking in the room. “You once described this room to me in a letter. It’s exactly the way I imagined it to be.” He moved toward the perfumery organ. “And this is where you blend your perfumes?”
“Many of them. Here’s one I’ve been working on.” She picked up a small amber bottle, opened it, dipped a slender white blotter strip into it, and held it up. “Tell me what you think.”
He took her wrist and guided the strip under his nose and closed his eyes, inhaling. “It’s fresh, very modern, smells like California in the summer.”
He has a good nose, she thought to herself, acutely aware of his hand on her wrist. “That’s California orange blossoms, and I added a fresh accord, reminiscent of the Pacific Ocean.”
“It’s spot on, Danielle.” He took the blotter strip from her, trailed it along her throat, and leaned closer to smell her neck. “A great perfumer once told me that it’s better to experience scent on skin.” He nuzzled her neck. “Remember when you told me that?”
Danielle let her head fall back, exposing her throat to him, and savoring the warmth of his touch. “It was in Grasse, after Jasmin was born. I was so glad you were there with me. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
Jon slipped his hand under her hair and held her neck, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. “Do you remember the first time we kissed?”
“How could I have forgotten?” she murmured, tasting his lips with her tongue.
He picked up the perfume bottle, poured a small amount of perfume into his palm and, unbuttoning the top button of her shirt, pressed the fragrant oil into the skin on her chest between her breasts. A small moan escaped her lips as he bent to her, intent on experiencing the aroma as it emanated from the gentle curve of her breast, warmed by his touch.
He slipped another button free, trailing the perfume on her skin with his fingers, past her lace brassiere, and onto her firm, flat stomach, pausing to caress her skin with his nose and lips and fingertips.
His breath felt hot on her skin, she felt his pulse quicken as he held her, encircling her with his hands and arms, engulfing her in a passionate embrace.
At once he stopped and cradled her face in his hands, his eyes dark with desire, then he lifted her easily in his arms.
“Take me outside,” she whispered, and he stepped through the French doors. “To the cabaña,” she added, leaning against his chest and feeling the beating of his heart.
Jon carried her past the sailcloth curtains that lifted in the gentle breeze, and into a slate-floored room with sliding glass doors and a stone fireplace. He placed her on a marine blue, double-width chaise lounge, and Danielle lay with her hair fanned out beneath her. Jon propped himself up on one arm next to her and gazed at her. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, Danielle. We’re meant to be together, you know that as well as I do.”
“I know, Jon, I know,” she murmured, pulling him close and unbuttoning his shirt. He stopped her, then finished the job and tossed his shirt to one side. He bent to kiss her and she met his lips again, gently, then more passionately, as their desire flamed against the cool spring breeze.
“I want to make love to you, Danielle, more than anything I’ve ever wanted to do. You are my heart, my soul, I love you, Danielle.”
She felt the warmth of his breath on her neck, as his words seeped into her soul, warming her to her core. A thought sprang from deep inside of her: I love this man...I always have. She ran her hands through his hair and pressed him toward her, then hesitated, checking her desire. She knew what she wanted, but should she?
He brushed his lips against hers and said softly, “Danielle, I once promised Max I would look after you. Will you let me?”
Jon’s words hung in the air as she met his intense gaze. “But there are others....”
“Who don’t have to figure in our future.”
Danielle sucked her breath in. Do I dare hope? “Until then, let’s just lay together, Jon, there’s no harm in that.”
The minutes turned into an hour, and then another, and they explored one another’s bodies as they lay together, whispering their desires and sharing their passion, and knowing that someday, somehow, they would share their lives. It would be so. As the sun set, Jon rose and started a fire in the fireplace, and Danielle lit citrus-scented candles. Jon brought the champagne and cheese and fruit from the house, and they laughed and drank and ate, then caressed another again, enjoying each other’s touch.
Finally, the champagne unleashed their inhibitions, and Danielle opened herself to Jon, who hesitated only for a moment before entering her with an ease and naturalness that surprised them both at first. They fell into rhythm with one another’s bodies, their scents mingled, merged, and exploded with passion, while their lovemaking soared on an arch of joy and intensity, and they knew no boundaries between them.
Danielle felt herself transported on wave after wave of pure joy, pure love, pure feelings. And this feels so right, she thought.
Satiated at last, Danielle gazed at Jon’s profile against the flickering fire, basking in the glow of their love. For the moment, she was simply happy, and felt closer to Jon than she’d ever been with another man. She smiled, and thought, I feel truly, deliciously loved. She knew he would be leaving soon, but rather than feeling sad, she felt that this day was a gift, a rare glimpse into the future, a snapshot of what could be. If only...she stopped herself, not daring to spoil their moment of pleasure with doubts or questions of the future.
The last thing she remembered was Jon covering her with a blanket and kissing her—kissing her face, her lips, her hair, and then she must have dozed off, for when she awoke, he was gone.
30
Cameron Murphy’s rich baritone rang out, resonating with the rounded warmth of a well-aged cognac. The long months he had spent in the sanitarium had been good for him. He knew he sounded better than he had in years.
The young sound engineer, Rex, gave two thumbs-up through the glass window that separated them.
“That’s great, Cam,” Harry said through a microphone. He sat beaming next to Rex, the sound engineer, at the control board. Next to him was Danielle, and she nodded her approval through the glass. “Okay, let’s do the third number now.”
“Sure, old man.” Cameron grinned and continued his masterful vocals, gliding through one love song after another, the words of each smooth ballad flowing like a slow rippling stream. He was in top form, and it felt grand.
Cameron completed the song, then everyone took a break while Cameron stretched and drank a glass of water. He’d put in a good day’s work. As far as he was concerned, his vocals were almos
t finished.
He had to admit, his treatment had benefited him in every way—physically, mentally, and emotionally. Still, he missed the excitement of living on the edge. “There’s a lot to be said for a normal routine, for peace and calm,” his doctor had told him. But the way Cameron figured it, there’d be time enough for that when he was cold in the ground.
He wasn’t one for a mundane, workaday existence. Not like Danielle, he thought, pitying her. Yet, he realized that his actions had inflicted extreme suffering on Danielle and the girls. On Erica and Harry and Lou, too. On every friend he’d ever had, and for that he was genuinely sorry.
But he had thrived on the heightened reality produced by drugs and alcohol. The passion it brought to his work was electrifying. How could he explain this to anyone? How could he exist, and still write great music, without it?
Cameron finished his water. Motioning to Harry, he returned to work.
Danielle sat in the sound-proofed engineering booth. She had her sketch pad before her, working on next season’s designs for her ready-to-wear line, a new perfume bottle, and costumes for Erica’s new movie. Actually, Cameron’s music had always inspired her, despite their problems. And now, she squeezed as much work into a day as possible so as to spend time with her family in the evening. Yet invariably, she found herself over committed, and she often worked late into the night in her studio at home after the girls had gone to bed.
She closed her sketchbook as Cameron began the last song of the session, Perfumed Letters, a song he’d written for her during his confinement. The title referred to letters she’d written to him before he was well enough to receive her visits. The song was a ballad of star-crossed lovers.
Shivers gripped her spine as she listened to him spin the tale, then the haunting finale: “And in my still hands they’ll find, yellowed with time, perfumed letters from my love, my love for all time.” What a beautiful arrangement, she thought, as she blinked back sudden regret. It’s sure to be a hit.
And then she thought of Jon, and all the letters he had written her, too. It was just one delicious day, she thought, remembering Jon’s visit. And nothing more.
She dragged her attention back to Cameron. She hadn’t told him about the divorce. The past months she’d been supportive of him, though she was careful not to encourage him romantically. But their marriage was over. She knew that now, and she’d known it even before Jon’s visit. Otto Koenig had already drafted the legal documents for the divorce.
“You’re being extraordinarily fair,” Otto had remarked. She planned to vacate the house and relinquish the deed to Cameron free of encumbrance. After all, it had been his home when they’d met, though she had paid it off for him. National Music was to remain her sole property, and she had insisted on a generous contract for Cameron’s recording and tour. “I’ll take only what I’ve personally developed and built,” she had instructed Otto.
Cameron’s final vocals hung magically in the air, and a hush gathered in the room. Harry leaned forward and tapped the microphone. “That’s a wrap. It was absolutely perfect, Cam. You’re free to go.” Harry stood, glanced at his watch. “Danielle, I’ve got to make a call.” He walked from the room.
Danielle watched as Cameron gathered his sheet music. He shoved it into a large black leather valise and stooped below the plate glass window to pick up something on the floor.
He’s made remarkable progress, she thought with a pang of guilt. Initially, the medical staff had approved of Danielle’s unusual conditions, probably due to his celebrity status, she knew. Nonetheless, it had given Cameron hope and purpose, a raison d’être. Everyone needed a reason to live, and music had always been Cameron’s way of communicating with the world.
An attendant arrived to escort Cameron from the recording studio for his return to the sanitarium. According to the provisions, he was to be escorted at all times, especially after his relapse a few months ago. The medical staff concurred that the recording sessions had been of enormous benefit to Cameron’s recovery. The staff had grown to love him, too. Once he began to respond to treatment, the old Cameron had emerged, as charming and fun-loving as ever. Danielle felt that the end of his confinement was near, and that this time, he’d make it. Or so she hoped.
Cameron poked his head through the door. “Hey emerald eyes, how’s Dani mine?”
Danielle smiled at his nickname for her. He’d also written and recorded a song entitled Emerald Eyes. She felt it was another sure hit. “Fine,” she said cordially. “You sounded marvelous, Cameron,”
He responded with a roguish grin. “Just wanted to say good-bye. Got a moment?”
“Of course, what’s on your mind?” He’s in unusually good spirits, she thought, genuinely happy for his progress. Rex excused himself, closing the door behind him. “Come in, Cameron.” Danielle stood to greet him.
Suddenly, Cameron dropped his valise, caught her in his arms and pressed her to him. “Just wanted to tell me darlin’, me favorite girl, that I love her dearly.”
She hesitated, uncomfortable in his embrace, then said guardedly, “And I’ve loved you, too, Cameron. In my way.”
His face brightened. “Sure and it’s good to hear those words from your lips, Dani. You’re a beautiful lady, and I thank you for what you’ve done for me. I admire you, really I do. There’s no one like you, no one who would’ve put up with me the way you did, no one who cared enough to help me.”
She cocked her head. For an instant, she thought how strange his behavior was. Then she relaxed and laughed softly. She’d been so traumatized by his former behavior that his return to normalcy caught her off guard.
“Give my love to the girls, to Liliana and Jasmin, and to your lovely mum, too. Now I understand what Marie went through with her treatment. What a grand lady she is.”
“I’ll give them your love.” Yes, he’s the old Cameron, the one who adored and spoiled the children. Later, she recalled, when he’d began his decline, descending into his dark abyss, it was the girls he would first appeal to after a long absence, tail between his legs, with gifts and surprises, until Danielle finally absolved him as well. Not surprisingly, the girls missed him. When he was sober, he was a barrel of fun, certainly more fun than she’d been, what with her mountain of responsibilities. But his dark side had troubled all of them.
“That’s good of you, Dani. You won’t forget, will you?” He held her even tighter, playfully tapping her nose.
“I won’t forget.”
With obvious reluctance, he released her, but he still held her hands, gently stroking them. “I’ve always loved you, Dani, to the best of my ability. As much as I could love anyone.” He paused, his dark passionate eyes searching her face. “You understand, don’t you?”
“Perfectly.” He must know about the divorce, she thought, or least suspects. This is his good-bye. A wistfulness overtook her, a sorrow for all that had passed between them, for all that had gone so wretchedly wrong. She smiled at Cameron and gave him a light kiss on the cheek.
Cameron responded with a flare of passion, then slowly retreated, releasing first one hand, then the other. He picked up his valise, opened the door, and turned back to her, giving her one last smile, his famous smile, the grin that could light up a movie screen like fireworks, sending mothers and daughters swooning at his songs. And then he was gone.
Guilt slashed her heart as she watched him go, the sanitarium attendant close at his heels. But I’m doing what’s best for both of us, she told herself firmly. She had never shared with him the kind of feelings she had for Jon. And yet, Jon wasn’t the reason she was divorcing Cameron. She was doing it for her own sanity, and to provide a peaceful existence for her family. Her relationship with Jon was uncertain at best, and she didn’t want to delude herself. They might never share anything more than his last visit.
Harry appeared at the door. “Are you all right?”
She sniffed. “I’ll be fine.” Her face felt flushed. She watched Cameron disappear around a co
rner. A strange feeling gripped her. Could I have loved him after all?
“Ready when you are,” Harry said gently, touching her elbow.
“I’m ready.” She cleared her prickly throat. She picked up her sketches and purse, then walked with him to his car.
“Good night, Rex,” Harry called to the sound engineer.
“Good night, Harry,” Rex replied as he loaded items into his pickup truck. “Say, you didn’t see my extension cord, did you?”
“No, can’t say that I did,” Harry replied.
“Must’ve overlooked it.” Rex walked back to the studio.
Harry turned to Danielle and put his arm around her. “Are you sure you want me to join your family for dinner tonight? You seem preoccupied. Anything wrong?”
“I’ll be fine. Cameron and I just said good-bye. Somehow, I think he knows of my plans for the divorce.” She arranged a smile on her face. “And yes, I do want you to join us for dinner tonight. My mother has been cooking all day, and she’s quite excited. You’re one of her favorite people.”
“What a coincidence, her daughter’s one of my favorite people.” Harry leaned to kiss her.
Swiftly Danielle turned her face, giving him her cheek. “Dear Harry,” she said. “We’ll be late.”
* * *
When Cameron Murphy didn’t appear for dinner, one of the attendants volunteered to track him down. Katy Gibson, a nursing school volunteer, fairly ran through the corridors, her blond hair streaming behind her. She hoped Cameron Murphy hadn’t forgotten the autographed photo he’d promised for her mother. Tomorrow was her mother’s birthday, and she had planned it as a special surprise. He was her mother’s favorite singer.
Excitedly she tapped on his door. No answer. She knocked louder. “Mr. Murphy?” she called out. “It’s me, Katy.” Silence. Gingerly she tried the knob. The door swung open.
