La Fleur Rouge The Red Flower (8 page)

"But, Hildy! Neither did Greg!"

"Jenny -- " Hildy hesitated, wishing she could spare her from what she feared was only too true. But she had to tell her. There was no other way. "I didn't want to worry you, but just as we were boarding the plane I saw Greg. He was sitting in a corner of the waiting room looking around. Oh, I'm sure he didn't recognize me. I don't know if he found out about Paris or not, but he's tracked me down every other place I've been, and I have an awful feeling he's done it again. He stands to gain everything with me out of the way."

"Hildy - - you'd better tell Peter Graff about this. We might all be in danger," she warned her.

Hildy nodded in resignation. "I'll probably lose my job if I do, but I have to, don't I? I have no choice. Jenny, he's doing it again." Her eyes filled with tears. "He's ruining my career. And he almost took my life!"

Jenny stared at Hildy. "Are you sure it was Greg? How do you know it wasn't someone else? What about your disguise? I think you’re forgetting - - "

"It's too much of a coincidence that the bomb was right behind us", Hildy interrupted. "It had to be deliberately planted. I'm sure Greg was looking for me at the airport. Even if he didn't recognize me, my real name is on the passenger list in the computer. I wouldn't be surprised if he hired a detective to find me."

Jenny was shocked. "Do you really think he'd go that far?" "Yes, I do. Jenny, you weren't there when Greg threatened me that night in Boston. If you could have seen the look in his eyes, you'd know he'd stop at nothing to keep me from exposing him. He said he'd see me dead first! And he knows that as soon as I get enough money I'm going to use that common-law copyright to fight him in court, and the whole world will know that he stole 'The Ginger Jar' from me." She threw her hands up in a gesture of confusion. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe I'm just being paranoid."

Jenny looked dubious. "Maybe not. What if it was Greg, and he tries again?"

Hildy put her head in her hands. "Oh, Jenny," she moaned, "what have I gotten you into? I thought I was getting you away from danger, and I've only succeeded in getting you into more."

Jenny spoke to Hildy in a soothing tone. "We're okay," she said. "I wouldn't have missed this trip to Paris for anything, danger and all." A sudden thought struck her. "Hildy! What about our luggage?"

"The gendarme said the airport attendants will deliver it to our hotel," Hildy said. "That is, if there's anything left of it."

The taxi driver pulled up to the front entrance of their hotel, and the bellhop came running out. He looked puzzled when he saw no luggage. Hildy explained that they had just arrived from the States on the plane that had the bomb, and if there was anything left of their luggage it would be delivered later.

They made their way into the plush lobby of the brand new La Grande Veue Hotel facing the Seine River in the heart of Paris. As they entered, the beauty and elegance of the Louis The Fourteenth decor almost made them forget the horror of what they had just experienced.

Hildy approached the desk and spoke to the hotel clerk in French. "Je suis Hildy Swenson. Avez-vous une chambre pres de la mienne?" she asked him.

He pressed a few keys on the computer. "Oui, Mademoiselle. Nous en evons une guste a cote."

"We're in luck," Hildy told Jenny. "They have a nice room next to mine. Both rooms overlook the Seine."

They completed the registration forms and headed for the elevator.

"We'd better freshen up," Hildy said as they ascended. "We have shopping to do. We don't have any clothes, remember? I'll call Peter and tell him what happened." She managed a wry laugh. "I only hope he doesn't refuse to film my musical. He may be afraid to work with me."

As Hildy entered her room the phone was ringing. She threw her purse on the bed and hurried to answer it.

It was Peter, sounding extremely concerned. "Are you all right?" he asked her. "I just heard what happened!"

"I'm fine, Peter. But we don't have any luggage. Jenny and I are about to go shopping so we'll have something to wear."

"Jenny?" Peter asked, puzzled.

Hildy hastened to explain. "It's a long story, Peter. Jenny is the friend I was staying with in California. She needed to get away, so she came to Paris with me."

"Well, I was going to suggest that we have dinner together. We have things to discuss."

Hildy winced. We certainly do, she thought, but he hasn't a clue of what I'm about to tell him.

"What time did you have in mind?" she asked. "I mean, there's a slight chance that our luggage was already off the plane and in the building when the bomb went off. If it was, it will be delivered here at the hotel and we won't have to go shop - oh! -someone's knocking."

She put the phone down on the night stand and opened the door. The bellhop stood there grinning with her luggage in tow. "Oh!" Hildy gasped. "Merci! Merci! Placez la valise ici, s'il vous plait!" She gestured toward the luggage rack. "What about my friend?" she asked, slipping into her own language.

The bellhop grinned. "I just delivered her luggage," he answered her in English.

"Merci!" She gave him a generous tip and picked up the phone again. "Peter, our luggage just arrived! Intact! We won't have to go shopping after all. What time shall we meet for dinner?"

"How does eight o'clock sound? That will give you time to get some rest. Oh - - be sure to bring your friend. I'd like to meet her."

"Where did you have in mind?" Hildy asked. "I mean - what shall we wear?"

"I'd say something on the dressy side would be perfect. Since it's your first night in Paris I'm taking you to a brand new restaurant on the Left Bank. It just opened last week. You'll like it."

"Sounds great, Peter! We'll meet you in the lobby at quarter of eight. Thanks." She hung up and dialed Jenny. "Peter called me," she told her. "He wants to take us both to dinner at eight o'clock."

"Are you sure he wants me tagging along? I can fend for myself. You have things to discuss about the shoot tomorrow."

"He insisted I bring you along, Jenny. He wants to meet you. Besides," Hildy sighed, "I need your moral support when I tell him what I'm sure was behind the bombing. I don't know how he'll react."

"It may not be as bad as you think," Jenny said.

"I hope you're right. I'd hate to lose this job. Not only because I've worked so hard to get it, but I don't want Greg to have the satisfaction of ruining things for me again."

"What are you going to wear?" Jenny asked. "Formal - informal - what?"

Hildy perked up and pushed aside the dread, determined to enjoy her first evening in Paris.

"He's taking us to a new, posh restaurant overlooking the Seine. It should be beautiful at night. I think I'll wear that nice pants suit I bought the other day. You know, the pretty red silk with the scattered sequins."

"I'll wear my peach and turquoise jumpsuit with the rhinestone belt. Oh, Hildy, I'm so glad I came! I'm going to enjoy every minute and forget about Ken and all my problems."

"Good for you! See you at the elevator. Twenty minutes of eight."

With a sigh of relief, Hildy hung up, kicked off her shoes, and walked over to the luggage rack to open her suitcase.

It wasn't long before she had all her clothes hung up in the closet, and all her toiletries neatly arranged on the countertop in the bathroom.

Before stretching out on the bed to relax she picked out her red silk pants suit with the scattered sequins and draped it over the chair in front of the bureau, ready to put on before meeting Peter for dinner. She placed her silver sandals on the floor, and her sequined evening purse on top of the bureau.

Exhausted from tension, she plunked herself down on the bed and dropped off to sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

CHAPTER X
 

It was dusk outside when Hildy woke up, feeling refreshed. But as she showered and dressed, the memory of the bomb came back full force. What a close call! Put it out of your mind! You’re here, safe and sound. That’s what matters. I wonder what Jay Stuart would think if he knew what Greg did, she thought bitterly. Somehow she couldn’t get Jay out of her mind.

She blow-dried her long, blond hair and pulled it tight to her head before donning her wig. By now she was very adept at pinning it on, and the horn-rimmed glasses looked quite chic. Next, she donned her sparkling, red pants suit, buckled her silver sandals, and transferred her wallet with her passport into her silver, sequined evening purse that completed her ensemble.

Jenny appeared in a turquoise jumpsuit with peach trim, complemented with a rhinestone belt, turquoise evening pumps, and a sequined, peach evening purse.

They met at the elevator looking like a couple of movie stars - - Hildy with her brunette wig, the dark hair resting on her shoulders, and Jenny with her short, pixie-style, raven hair and dark brown eyes. Their slender figures looked like something out of the latest issue of “Vogue” as they swept gracefully off the elevator and into the lobby.

Peter was waiting for them. His eyes lit up as he sent them an admiring glance.

Hildy approached him, hand outstretched. “Hi!” she said, greeting him warmly. No one would dream she was quaking inside. How would Peter react when she told him? She was well aware of the danger they might all be in. And all because of her. Will this nightmare ever end? she asked herself for the umpteenth time.

Peter grinned at Jenny. “I guess this is the famous Jenny that Hildy’s been telling me about. Welcome to Paris!” His warm, brown eyes twinkled as he shook her hand. “I have a limousine waiting outside,” he said. “The reservation is for eight o’clock, so we should be right on time.” He smiled and offered an arm to each of them as they exited the hotel.

They arrived at the building where the restaurant was located and went up to the penthouse. As they entered, the lights of Paris were just coming on. The beauty of the night was breathtaking! They were led to a table that looked out on the whole city. Boats that looked like giant canoes with canape covers moved slowly along the Seine, and passengers seated inside peered out of the picture windows, enjoying the cruise. It looked like a magic fairyland with the river sparkling in the moonlight and the lights of Paris twinkling up at them.

“No wonder they call this the City of Lights!” Hildy exclaimed. “Even New York doesn’t look quite like this!” She felt as though she was embarking on a brand new adventure, with all her worries left behind in Los Angeles. Then she shuddered at the thought of what she must tell Peter. She was so preoccupied, she didn’t hear him speak to her. She came to when the waiter placed a napkin on her lap.

“Where were you?” Peter asked, concerned. “You look a million miles away.”

No, she thought, not a million. Just back in Boston. She felt as though a cold wind passed over her, and she shivered.

“Are you cold?” he asked. “I’ll have someone turn down the air conditioner.”

“Oh, no,” she answered, and managed a weak laugh as she reached for the menu. “I’m fine. What is everyone having?”

“First of all,” Peter replied, “I’m going to order the best champagne they have. This calls for a celebration! We’re about to start work on a wonderful, new film which I know is going to win some awards.”

Jenny’s eyes widened in excitement. “Hildy, did you hear that? I knew your talent couldn’t be hidden forever!”

Peter looked pleased. “I guess I’m the first one to see your writing. I feel honored. I’ve discovered a new talent.”

Hildy lowered her eyes. Is now the time? It seemed like a perfect lead-in. She hesitated for only a moment. “Peter, there’s something I have to tell you. You may not want to work with me once you hear what I have to say.”

“Not work with you?” Peter was stunned. “Why not? You’ve written a superb piece of musical script! I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I can’t imagine anything that would change my mind! What in the world - - ?”

Now that Hildy had started to tell him, she knew she had to finish. Why prolong the agony? She plunged in. “I’m sure the bomb on our plane was intended for me. There’s someone who wants me dead.”

Peter stared at her in frank amazement. “What?!”

“It’s a long story,” she told him. She knew if she backed down now, she might not find the courage later. She took a sip of the champagne, hesitated, then continued. “Peter, someone I knew back in Boston stole my first musical and put his name on it. I have only a common-law copyright proving that I wrote it. But he knows that as soon as I have enough money, I’m going to use it to fight him in court.”

Peter looked at her intently. “Was it ever used? I mean, was it ever produced?”

“Oh, yes,” Hildy assured him in a bitter tone, “it certainly was! I’m sure you’ve heard of ‘The Pepper Pot,’ and you know what a big hit it was.”

Peter’s mouth fell open. “’The Pepper Pot’?!” He studied her for a moment, then laughed. “Oh, you’re joking! That was written by Gregory Wilcox.”

“No,” Hildy replied. “It was written by me six months before I ever met him, only I called it ‘The Ginger Jar.’ A month after we met we became engaged, and he stole it from me one night when he was in my apartment. He changed the name to ‘The Pepper Pot’ and said he wrote it, but the music, lyrics, and plot are all mine.” She struggled to control her voice as she explained in detail about her appointment with Jay Stuart, and what happened. “Greg told Jay he wrote it. He never mentioned me. When Greg found out I had talked to Jay, he threatened me. He said he’d see me dead before he’d let me expose him.”