La Fleur Rouge The Red Flower
Read La Fleur Rouge The Red Flower Online
Authors: Ruthe Ogilvie
La Fleur Rouge
The Red Flower
The First Novel
of The Stuart Trilogy
BY RUTHE OGILVIE
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© Copyright 2012 Ruthe Ogilvie.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.
ISBN:
978-1-4269-7465-6 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-4269-7466-3 (hc)
ISBN: 978-1-4269-7504-2 (e)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2011911225
Trafford rev. 05/04/2012
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CONTENTS
The Stuart Trilogy is dedicated to a chosen few; those whose inspiration, dedication, and talent combined to encourage the finished works to flow forth from my pen or keyboard. To my husband, Frank (Bud) Ogilvie, who continually supported me through the long, arduous process; to my twin sister, Rubye Macdonald, the encourager who urged me to start writing in the beginning; to Kevin Thompson, whose business acumen and friendship guided me through publisher duress; to Linda Cruz, sounding board and organizer extraordinaire; and to Doug Warner, friend, computer expert and fixer of the word processing messes that I too often created (although I always blamed the computer).
Hildy Swenson (nee Hilary Simone) drove along the Hollywood Freeway in her silver-blue, Jaguar convertible. Her dark, brunette wig which hid her natural, long blond hair was blowing in defiance. She fought back the tears that welled up in her soft, brown eyes, blinking to prevent fogging up the dark, horn-rimmed glasses she had recently bought to complete her disguise. Why did this happen to me? she asked herself repeatedly. Will I ever escape from Gregory Wilcox’s threats?
She thought back to the day when in desperation she had called her dear school chum, Jennifer Gordon, and told her she was moving from Arizona as soon as she could pack her things.
She had been writing, acting, and composing songs for a children’s show on a local TV station and had been quite successful, until one day the manager had called her into his office and, with no explanation, fired her. Her landlord evicted her from her apartment the same day.
Jenny, a beautiful, young black woman who was Hilary’s best friend, had experienced similar problems, although for different reasons, and Hilary knew she could trust her and listen to her advice. Jenny was the only friend she had confided in about the reason she had left Boston in such a hurry two years ago.
“Jenny,” she sobbed, “it’s happening again. I’ve got to find a new location.”
“Hilary, come and stay with me in California. I have plenty of room, and I’d love the company now that Ken and I are divorced.”
“Thanks, Jenny,” Hilary said, relieved. “There’s just one thing. You may not know me when you see me. I’m wearing a dark wig and horn-rimmed glasses. And I’ve changed my name to Hildy Swenson.”
There was a moment’s silence on the other end. “What a great idea!” Jenny exclaimed. “How did you come up with the name?”
“Hildy is a childhood nickname, and Swenson is my middle name. Greg will never be looking for me under that name. What do you think?”
“Oh, Gregory Wilcox will never find you,” Jenny agreed. “I’m glad you finally realized he meant all those terrible threats. Don’t worry - it’s Hildy Swenson from now on.”
And it had, indeed, been Hildy Swenson, to Jenny and everyone else she had met since then. No one would ever find out from her or from Jenny why she had fled from Boston. Not till the time was right.
She shuddered as she recalled that awful night two years ago when all her idealistic dreams had so abruptly come to an end.
It seemed so long ago, almost like a dream.
But what had followed was a living nightmare.
TWO YEARS EARLIER - 1954
It was a beautiful fall day in Boston. The kind of day every Easterner delights in. Sunny and warm, but without that awful humidity, with moisture so heavy and wet you could almost drink it. The air was crisp and crackling, bright and new.
Hilary sat in the window seat of her Queensbury Street apartment in Back Bay, her long, blond hair cascading over her shoulders. With a look of rapture she watched her brand new fiance walk down the street toward his car.
It was Hilary’s twenty-third birthday, and he had just given her a beautiful three carat diamond that graced the third finger of her left hand, and sparkled as brilliantly as the first star just poking its head through the early evening sky.
What a wonderful, handsome man I just got engaged to, she marveled. Gregory Wilcox, of the much respected, old Wilcox family of Beacon Hill. He was also the top composer and lyricist of musicals in the country.
She hugged her knees to her chin and sighed a big, satisfied sigh. How he must love me to give me this beautiful ring! He was everything she had ever dreamed of. Kind, honest, tall and strong, yet gentle. And oh, so attractive!
Hilary was of medium height, with the slender, delicate figure of a dancer, and the face of an angel. She had that unusual combination of blond hair inherited from her Norwegian mother, and soft, brown eyes which came from her father’s French background.
With stars in her eyes, she could just imagine what a perfect marriage she and Greg would have. Finally her dreams were coming true. Not only am I in love with the guy, but he can help me a lot with contacts for my writing and composing. What more could I ask for?
Hilary had been composing music since she was five years old, having inherited her unique talent from her mother, a brilliant concert pianist, who taught her daughter at an early age to read music and play the piano. Although Hilary was only twenty-three, she had become a gifted composer.
Greg had told her many times how much he admired her talent, and promised to help her break into the business. But she never dreamed that night only a month ago when she went to see him about a musical she had written six months before, entitled “The Ginger Jar,” that he would fall in love with her, although for her it had been a case of love at first sight.
Yes, everything looked rosy. She watched him as he reached his car and waved to her, his brown, wavy hair blowing softly in the gentle breeze.
* * *
Twenty minutes later Greg drove into the yard of his town house, parked his Rolls Royce in the underground garage, picked up his briefcase, and made his way to the first floor and into the den.
As he sat down at his desk he thought of the beautiful, large diamond he had just given Hilary. It had cost a lot, but it was well worth it. It was little enough to pay, he figured, for what he would be getting out of it.
He knew Hilary would say yes to his marriage proposal. He had bought the ring days ago in anticipation of this, and was confident he’d be taking no chance bringing it along with him this evening. After all, where could she meet another man as good a catch as he?
What a team we’ll make! he mused. As long as she’s at my side I’ll have all the material I’ll need for my new musicals. With her writing talent and my contacts there’s no end to the awards I’ll get! Hilary is just what the idea doctor ordered! Yes, he decided, she would be a great asset to him, and he moved in quickly to claim his prize. Greg always got what he wanted, no matter what means he had to use to get it.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirrored wall and gave his image a triumphant salute as he opened his briefcase and took out a thick manuscript.
* * *
Back in her apartment, Hilary was preparing for an appointment with one of Broadway’s top producers, Jay Stuart, who was visiting in Boston for a few days. She planned to show him her musical. It hadn’t been easy to get the appointment, but when she mentioned to his secretary that she was a friend of Greg’s that had paved the way.
She was puzzled that so far Greg had done nothing to help her make contacts, as he had promised, so she decided to make one of her own. Won’t he be surprised if I succeed? I’m sure he’ll be delighted.
Did she imagine it, or did Greg seem a little upset when she mentioned it on the phone earlier that day? She planned to tell him later if, hopefully, Jay liked it, but the excitement of it had been too much for her, and it had come tumbling from her lips before she could stop it.
Greg had seemed extremely anxious to take another look at it. Unusually so, she felt. Then she smiled. No, he just wants to double check to make sure it’s presentable before Jay Stuart sees it, she reasoned. What a dear man!
As she prepared to retire for the night she decided to get the script and music out ready to pick up first thing tomorrow. But when she looked in her files, it was gone.
A feeling of near panic swept over her. Where could it be? Then she remembered Greg’s desire to help her. He had asked to see the script before he left, but she assumed he had put it back in her files. Could he have taken it?
She picked up the phone and dialed his number, feeling somewhat reluctant to question him for fear he might think she didn’t trust him. I’ll bet he forgot about my appointment.
There was a busy signal on the other end. Who would he be talking to at this hour? It’s almost midnight.
After several tries, it rang and he answered.
“Hi!” Hilary greeted him. “I’ve been trying to get you.” She hesitated. “Where did you put my script? I just looked in my files, and - uh - it seems to be missing. I need it for my appointment tomorrow.”