She charged forward, hands in fists, ready to curse out the pervert and call hotel security.
A calm, deep voice spoke to her. “CeCe Ahlstrom, open the window before I am seen.”
CeCe rolled her eyes. Devin Manning.
She cranked open the window and he slid deftly inside. He wore black commando gear. Rappelling equipment rattled and clanked around his thighs. He touched a Bluetooth headset.
“I’m in. Exit Bravo Four. Ghost it, boys.”
The rope slid away, up and out of sight.
“I’ve been monitoring all hotel communications,” Manning said, “waiting for you to wake. I have a communique I want you to deliver.”
CeCe brushed past the ridiculous spy wannabe and looked out the window. The woman with the baby and cigarette continued to chat on the phone. She either hadn’t seen anything or she simply didn’t care.
CeCe whirled. “What is your deal? What is a communi-what? More than that, I want you to leave me alone. You are a very creepy man.”
“Creepy?” Manning quirked a lip. “If you think masterminding espionage operations is creepy, then I am the ultimate voyeur creep.”
“Creepy,” CeCe repeated. “What do you want?”
Manning unzipped his jumpsuit and let it fall, the climbing gear clinking and rattling. Of course, underneath was a tuxedo. He straightened his tie, adjusted his cufflinks, and then reached into the coat of his tux. He removed a complicated-looking envelope sealed with string and possibly wax. On the front was written a single word—René.
“No,” CeCe said immediately.
“And yet, you don’t know what I’m about to ask,” Manning said evenly.
CeCe put her hands on her hips, the international sign of don’t-even. “I know exactly what is going on, Manning. A communi-whatever must be that envelope, and you want me to deliver it to René. But I am finished with René. We are over.”
Manning dropped the envelope on the bed. “You and the Frenchman enjoyed the adventure of a lifetime, well, one of your lifetimes, not mine. It is over. And yet, part of you must crave a denouement. To leave things unfinished wouldn’t be wise. Trust me …” He paused, his face set in a lame excuse for drama. “I know all about regrets.”
“I wouldn’t know where to find him,” CeCe protested.
“How many old wooden boats have entered the Porto marina, sinking, in the last day, manned by a Frenchman?”
“Good point,” CeCe admitted.
Manning glanced around the room. “While this hotel is serviceable, rather quaint, and within your mother’s slim budget, I’ve booked two suites at the InterContinental Porto Palacio das Cardosas.” He emphasized every word, as if he were desperate to sound fluent. “A suite for you and a suite for your moder, which as you know is the archaic formal for mother in Swedish. I would relocate post haste. The reservation is under the rather clever name of Tourbillon, for good reason. Do not mention me. My very life depends upon constant anonymity.”
“Never,” CeCe sighed. “How do you know René’s grandmother anyway?”
“René has been a very valuable asset to me. I met her undercover, when I was vetting René. We became friends for she is a remarkable woman.”
“That’s it?” CeCe sighed. “I thought you might be a long lost relative of René’s, or maybe your parents—”
“Do not mention my parents,” Manning said brusquely.
“Stop talking crazy and explain yourself,” CeCe said.
Manning stepped over his black clothes and rappelling gear. “Sorry for the mess,” he said, and disappeared through the door.
He left before CeCe could argue further. It seemed she had one more talk with René to endure. She knew what the dance would be—him promising to love her and the baby, him insisting he regretted what he said back in Horta, blah, blah, blah.
There was nothing René could do to change her mind. They were through.
Manning might be a fool, but she was going to take him up on the offer of the upgrade to the luxury hotel.
Before calling her mom with the news they were checking out early, she studied the button-and-string envelope on the bed. What could be inside? She didn’t want to know.
* * *
Wednesday morning, René sat petting Chienne, watching as the Tourbillon was lifted out of the water. The old hull had been literally taped together, and every hole matched the holes in his own heart. With her last breath, the old ship had gotten him to Porto, to CeCe, though his dramatic chase had done nothing to change her mind.
Even Chienne’s swim hadn’t softened her heart.
He thought about returning to the life of a playboy yacht captain, but even the idea made him tired. He couldn’t be who he once was. The thought of the open ocean and adventure no longer called to him. He wanted a home.
He’d slept fitfully in a tiny pension near the marina, a bed-sized room with a dirty bathroom down the hall. He shared the place with drunks, immigrants, and the desperate. All fit him, including the drunk part. Every minute he wasn’t in the room, drinking, he spent with the Tourbillon and the shipwrights, talking to them in a confusing mess of French, English, and Portuguese.
Seagulls squawked as they fought over fish guts. The smell of sanded wood mixed with the chemical snap of glues and epoxies. Black water lapped at gray wood covered in barnacles. It was a harbor, and he had spent countless hours in such places. Men called to one another, some flirted with long-lashed women holding baskets, and it was all so familiar, but empty.
“René!” the master shipwright approached him. He was an old man with a walrus mustache he wore like it was his most prized possession. “There is the matter of money, my friend. I see you love your boat, but such love cannot pay what will be an expensive bill.”
René sighed. “I’m not the owner of the Tourbillon. I’ve had trouble contacting the true owner, a man named Devin Manning, but I can assure you, he and my grandmother have the money to cover the repairs.”
The master shipwright drew a hand over his mustache. “And how many times have I heard that story?”
René took off his most prized possession, his father’s watch. “If this will help, I would gladly give it you. That ship, she is priceless to me.”
The mustached man regarded the Officine Panerai Luminor 1950 Flyback Regatta watch and shook his head.
“Keep your bauble. We will take out your ship, but we will not start repairs until we have payment. I’m sure you understand.”
He moved off.
René sat back down onto the pier and clasped his watch back on his wrist. It had been a rash move, but he was sure his pere would’ve understood.
Chienne licked René’s face, and he had to smile.
“So, now you like me, min älskling. Well, at least I have won over one heart in this latest adventure. Never fear, we’ll save the Tourbillon. Even if you and I have to do the work together. If only you had thumbs.”
Some of the shipwrights whistled and hooted, and René heard Portuguese words he understood: beautiful woman.
René glanced up to see CeCe walking across the wooden walks of the pier. She kept her eyes away from his. She looked at the sunlight on the sea, or the battered hull of the Tourbillon, or even Chienne, who sat very still by René’s sandaled feet.
CeCe stopped a few meters away.
All the shipwrights stopped their various tasks to watch.
CeCe reached into her purse and removed an envelope.
“Devin Manning wanted me to give you this. He called it a communique.”
René didn’t move. He had pleaded with her before and nothing had come from it. What good were words now?
CeCe tossed it to him and René caught it. He saw his name scrawled in an unfamiliar hand. Probably Manning’s. René had no idea of what could be in the complicated looking envelope.
“Oui, communique. More of the English stealing our good French words.”
CeCe patted her thigh. “Come, Chienne, let me give you a goodbye.�
��
The dog looked at her, then at René, as if expecting him to open the envelope. Maybe she thought there was food in it.
René smiled sadly. “No, Chienne, you won’t be able to eat what’s inside.”
CeCe frowned. “I’m a little curious as well. You know Manning, he is always such a spy. It could be anything.”
Again, CeCe called to Chienne. “Come, girl, let me pet you.”
Chienne didn’t move.
René found that strange. What was going on with the mutt? He undid the string around the button and tried to open it, but a stamped-wax closure stopped him. “Who does this?”
CeCe finally drew near. She looked at the stamp.
“Manning’s idea of a coat of arms. I’m sure he intended to draw out this farce as long as possible.”
“Yes, he would only hint,” René said. Chienne drew up to his leg and away from CeCe. The dog barked and shook herself, ignoring CeCe.
René tore through the wax seal and inside was a note from his grand-mere, the ownership papers to the Tourbillon, and statements from their family’s Swiss bank accounts. René was surprised at the numbers. He knew his family was rich, but that kind of money boggled the mind.
The note was short, but seeing Grand-mere’s old-fashioned handwriting made him smile. He’d grown up reading her swooping French swirls.
“What does it say?” CeCe asked.
Chienne growled.
“Hush,” René said. Why was the dog being so difficult? Had the old dog finally lost her mind? It was like she didn’t recognize CeCe.
René’s smile turned wistful as he reviewed the letter. “Grand-mere has given me the Tourbillon and has turned all of the Baudoin accounts over to me. She said Manning kept her updated, and she applauded me for my sense of responsibility. How can Manning and Grand-mere know each other?”
CeCe sighed. “It doesn’t matter. What else does the letter say?”
René nodded. “She says she hopes I’ve fallen in love with the ship as well as Chienne. And she says I should take good care of my family. She includes you, CeCe. She calls you that wonderful girl carrying a princess.”
“But it’s a boy,” CeCe murmured.
“Who can say?”
“An ultrasound tech,” CeCe said a little sharply.
René’s heart grew numb in his chest. Even with all his family’s riches in his grasp, it didn’t mean much. Although he now had the money to repair the Tourbillon, his own little family was broken apart.
Chienne whined at him, but still she wouldn’t look at CeCe.
René crouched and showed her the inside of the envelope. “No food, girl,” he said. He scratched her under her chin and the dog thumped her tail on the pier. “No food, min älskling.”
“She likes that,” CeCe whispered.
She bent, too. Both petted the dog, but the minute CeCe touched her, Chienne carefully took CeCe’s arm in her teeth and drew the hand over to René.
The dog pierced CeCe with an unwavering gaze.
René witnessed the exchange and saw CeCe’s expression change. Tears brimmed in her eyes, and his own heart melted.
He stood and stepped away, turning his back on her. Nothing he could say or do would change CeCe’s heart. What he’d said in a moment of foolish pride could never be unsaid.
Chienne barked at him.
He turned to face the woman he still loved, a dog he had grown to love, and behind them, men clinging to his beloved Tourbillon, looking down on them.
René called to the men watching. “This is CeCe Ahlstrom. She is the only woman I’ve ever loved, and yet, I’ve managed to fail her. I was an ass, and I don’t think she can forgive me.”
* * *
CeCe had never felt so humiliated, and yet, at the same time, she was moved. Once more, it seemed René was playing to an audience, but what other option had she given him? She blushed and moved away, but Chienne grabbed the hem of her dress, stopping her.
A few of the men, those who understood English, called out, “Give him another chance! The dog wants you together. Don’t do it for him! Do it for the dog!”
Sobs overtook CeCe. What could she do?
René continued his speech to the shipwrights. “It is too late for us, and yet I can’t imagine life without her, without our dog, without our boat. They are my family. And she is pregnant, with a child I will love as much as I love her. I will love this baby more than I love the sea and the wind and full sails.”
She turned. The shipwrights were laughing at René, at his long speech. But it was clear to her that René didn’t care what these strangers thought. And he hadn’t asked about the huge Swede who had carried her away from him because he trusted her.
“Please,” he said. “Please forgive me and take me back.”
Chienne growled and stepped back, ripping the hem of CeCe’s dress. Slowly, the dog pulled her into René’s arms.
“Let me marry you,” René whispered into her ear. “Let me love you all the days of my life.”
“Oui!” CeCe pulled away from crying on his shoulder and kissed him.
Their lips met, while Chienne chased around them, barking happily. The shipwrights on the Tourbillon cheered, and the wind and water clapped along the dock in celebration.
Epilogue
Eighteen Months Later
Aboard the Tourbillon
Fort de France, Martinique
René swore in French and then covered his mouth, mortified. He couldn’t blurt out whatever came into his head anymore.
He backed over the lifelines onto the dock and disentangled the complicated baby walking toy Devin Manning had shipped from Amazon. Devin and René’s Grand-mere Marie-Aude took turns sending them absurd, high-tech baby toys.
This one was something called a Baby Einstein Neptune Walker. René had assembled the complicated toy on the dock because the shipping container was so huge. The bright green toy featured lights, ocean sounds, an electronic toy station, a ship’s wheel, and automatic brakes that sensed obstacles.
Merde. This time he whispered the epithet low to himself.
He thanked the gods he’d thought to stifle the word, because just then, a small head haloed with honey-blonde curls appeared around the side of the entrance to Tourbillon’s companionway. When she spied René, she laughed and fast-crawled across the wood deck with both CeCe and Chienne in hot pursuit, the dog yipping out warnings at the diaper-clad speed demon.
CeCe had finally fitted Marianne with denim overalls with built-in knee pads to protect her from Tourbillon’s teak-stained, hardwood planks when she realized the girl would not be banned from exploring the top deck.
Tourbillon’s renovations were completed per Grand-mere’s specifications at the Elephant Boatyard in Bursledon, up the Hamble River from Portsmouth. The historic yard, famed for coaxing old wooden ships back to life, was where HMS Elephant was built in 1786, Nelson’s flagship during the Battle of Copenhagen in 1801.
A working boatyard ever since, the yard was peopled with the finest shipwrights, riggers, and engineers. Tourbillon’s transformation took nearly a year, and René, true to his promise, stuck by her until she emerged, shining and reborn. He and CeCe poured a fine bottle of Krug Clos d’Ambonnay champagne across her bow to celebrate.
All the leaks in her hull had been repaired and then reinforced with steel. Her wood decks and brightwork gleamed, and René had hired a college student in Forte de France, Martinique, to help him with the daily maintenance required to keep her shining.
Marianne was born eight months earlier, in Bursledon. It was the same place René and CeCe pledged their love in a civil ceremony weeks before her birth. Devin made sure the complicated paperwork for the ceremony whisked through the British legal system. Anything for his goddaughter. He marched a very pregnant CeCe and a very embarrassed René to the registrar’s office, papers in hand.
His grand-mere had cried when they told her the name they’d given the baby.
The woman he loved
bent low to retrieve their daughter and walked toward him, little Marianne slung over one tilted hip. CeCe’s baggy “Whirled Peas” shirt he hated flapped in the breeze atop the little stretch skirt he loved.
Chienne hovered nearby as if she suspected CeCe might drop the baby at any moment. The silly dog had turned into an old auntie who would not let the baby out of her sight.
As for him, he was prepping a huge motor yacht nearby for a “black ops” scenario Devin claimed to be working. René was happy to keep his hand in every now and then playing skipper to the man’s strange exploits. This time they’d be gone only a week, and CeCe had decided to stay aboard Tourbillon with the baby.
CeCe’s mother would fly in to keep her daughter and granddaughter company while René helped Devin complete his “mission.” She planned to leave her latest Swedish hunk at home in favor of a tentative reunion with the Zarco. They’d decided to declare a cease-fire in order to let Marianne enjoy her grandparents together.
CeCe had warned both of them. “No emotional pyrotechnics.” René was doubtful, but he wouldn’t be there, thank the heavens.
When CeCe finally reached his side, Marianne lisped her latest word, “Pa,” and stretched her sticky, chubby fingers toward him. He dropped the Neptune Walker to the deck and folded the baby into his arms, breathing in her sweet smells of powder, apple juice, and damp diaper. He dabbed his index finger at her tiny nose where a dollop of sunscreen hadn’t been rubbed into the skin.
CeCe came and held both husband and baby. “Are you almost ready to go on another very important mission for Devin?”
René nodded. “Oui, but you never said how Manning knows Grand-mere. I’ve asked them both, and they never tell me. But you know, don’t you?”
CeCe giggled. “Yes, and finally, I will tell you. Grand-mere came into possession of a priceless diamond, which given enough power, could destroy a whole city. Manning was called in to protect both the diamond and your grandmother against an evil madman bent on world domination.”
René sighed. “You’re never going to tell me, are you?”
Up Too Close Page 22
