Leonie (56 page)

“You know us Americans, we never know when to quit.” He
walked toward her down the path and took her in his arms beneath the tree. “You mustn’t leave me like that again,” he whispered, as he held her close to his heart. “I’ll always find you. Don’t fight it, Léonie Bahri,” he said, kissing her. “We belong together. You’re going to marry me.”

They argued for a week in between making love, drinking wine, and eating huge meals, for he discovered a passion for the food of Provence.

“This is the real thing,” he pronounced, digging into a dish of lamb braised with rosemary and olives. “I’m used to New York French food in fancy sauces, it’s like the hotel chairs: phony.”

“You’ll get fat,” she cautioned. “All those sausages and soups.”

“No chance,” he replied smugly. “You’ll see, I’ll have the same waistline when I’m seventy.”

She sighed. “That’s another thing, I’m older than you.”

“So?”

“My waistline will be the first to go.”

He laughed at her. “Léonie, you will always be beautiful.”

He was wearing her down and she knew it. “I can’t leave France,” she argued. “I couldn’t live in a place where I would always be a ‘foreigner.’ ”

“Then I’ll commute or I’ll sell my business and start again here … whatever you want.”

“How can you commute across continents?” She was amazed by his energy.

“One month here, one month there—and one month traveling—as long as you promise to travel with me.”

That was it. They were down to reality. She couldn’t travel with him. She couldn’t marry him. She had to keep on working as long as audiences wanted her; the money just got eaten up by the château, and whatever the children needed she would give them.

“I couldn’t do that, Jim,” she said quietly. “I have my work.”

He looked at her shrewdly. “I had the feeling that you had had enough of being ‘Léonie,’ that you didn’t need her anymore. Am I right, Miss Bahri?”

She avoided his eyes. “Of course not. That’s what I do. I told you I was an independent woman. I like it that way.”

He took her hand. “All right, tell me the truth. You’re hiding something from me and I want to know what it is.”

His clear blue eyes were serious, waiting for her answer. “I need
to make money,” she said simply. “No, don’t say anything, it’s not just a
little
money. I have to make a
lot
. I have forty children who depend on me … that’s where ‘Léonie’s’ money goes.”

He stared at her, trying to understand what she meant.

“Forty children … whose children?”

“They’re orphans. I provide a home for them. They are my children.”

In his wildest dreams he could never have expected this. Forty children stood between him and marriage! What next? “I’ve never considered it,” he said slowly, “but I imagine that your fees must be substantial and you told me yourself that you work nine months out of every year. Surely there must be plenty of money by now?”

She shrugged helplessly. “There were some bad investments. I followed the advice of my trustees … a lot of money seems to have been lost along the way.” She sighed. “I don’t know, Jim, no matter how much I earn, it never seems to be enough.”

He leaned toward her across the table. “Do you remember when we met I told you that there was nothing that couldn’t be resolved? Leave it to me, Léonie … your children will be taken care of—all of them. I’ll straighten out those investments—and I’ll add to them. My God, Léonie, is money the only thing standing between you and me? That’s the easiest of problems to solve.”

Could he really do it? Hope flickered in her eyes.

“Put me in charge,” he told her with a smile, “and there’ll be no more problem.” When he said it she knew it would be true. She lay back in her chair and relaxed, everything would be all right now.

“I love you, Jim Jamieson.” She sighed. “What would I do without you?”

“Isn’t that what I’ve been saying all along?” he cried triumphantly.

It was because of Sekhmet that she finally said she would marry him. The statue gazed at them nightly from its marble plinth opposite her bed and he glared back at it. “Let’s turn her face to the wall,” he said. “She’s always watching!”

“No. No, you can’t do that.”

He looked at her, surprised by the vehemence of her reaction. “It was just a joke, Léonie.”

“I know. I’m sorry, but it’s important to me.”

“Because they were your father’s?”

“That … and other reasons,” she replied evasively, lying back against the pillows.

He propped himself on one elbow and looked at her. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are you going to tell me? Or is there some terrible secret that no one can ever know … the curse of Sekhmet!” he said with a laugh.

“Oh, Jim! Don’t say that!” She turned her face away so that he couldn’t see the fear in her eyes.

“Hey, now, wait a minute. What’s going on here?” He pulled her gently around to face him. “You don’t mean to tell me that you believe that there is a curse of Sekhmet?”

“It’s not a curse exactly, it’s more.… Oh, I can’t tell you. You’d only laugh and say I was being silly.”

Jim put his arms around her comfortingly. If she was this upset, something was really wrong. “Try me, Léonie. Just tell me what it is.”

She sat up, pushing back her hair. “Very well, I’ll tell you. But first you must read this.” She walked to the desk and pulled out a piece of paper. “It’s a transcription of the hieroglyphs on the statue.”

He read it and looked up at her inquiringly.

“I’ve no idea where my father got them from, but I’ve had the statues since I was a child. They were my dolls, they slept in my bed at night and I loved them. It wasn’t until I was eighteen that I found out the secret of Sekhmet, who she is and what she is. And when I did everything changed. It was as though Sekhmet took over my life. Oh, damn it,” she said, bursting into tears. “I told you it would sound ridiculous. That’s why I never told anyone before, not even Caro.”

“Tell me,” he urged. “Go on, I’m listening.”

“You think you know me, but you don’t,” she whispered. “You’d better know what sort of a woman you are asking to be your wife. I can’t marry anyone, Jim. I’m haunted by my past and I’ll never be free unless … unless I am like Sekhmet. Unless I kill my enemies.”

He picked up her robe, wrapping her in it, folding it around her lovingly. “Come on,” he said, taking her arm and leading her outside onto the terrace. “Let’s just sit here together in the dark
and you can tell me about it. Don’t leave out a single detail. I want to know it all.”

She glanced at his profile, silhouetted against the warm blue-black night sky. It would be such a relief to tell him, to unburden herself of the fear. The story spilled out of her, about Monsieur, about Amélie, her fears for her daughter’s safety. “And I know,” she said finally, “that one day some small coincidence will lead Monsieur to Amélie … and when he finds her, then I shall have to kill him. Sekhmet’s destiny is mine.”

Her words drifted into the velvet night. She waited nervously for his reactions, but he said nothing, staring out to the dark horizon across the faintly rippling sea. I knew it, she thought despairingly, I knew he would think I’m crazy—I’ve lost him. I’d better leave, just go away. I’ll go down to the beach and walk and when I come back he’ll be gone. And I’ll be alone again—except for Monsieur. And Sekhmet. She stood up quickly and turned away. He caught her hand. “Where are you going?” he demanded.

“I’m going down to the beach. I need to walk … you can leave if you want to.”

“Leave? Of course I’m not leaving. I’m just trying to figure out how your life got so complicated and what we can do to straighten it out.” He put his arm around her and they walked together down the steps to the beach. The sand felt cool and damp under their bare feet as they paced by the edge of the silent water. “All right,” he said, “now it’s my turn to speak. First of all, this man … Monsieur. He still spies on you, still has someone following you?”

“Yes. Wherever I am … and
he
follows me, too. He is always there, in the theater, or I’ll see him in a restaurant, or outside a shop, and when I’m here, he’ll be on his yacht waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“For me to say I’ll come back to him. Or for me to lead him to Amélie.”

“And this ‘murder’ … are you sure of it? Was it murder?”

“Yes, I’m sure. When I found out that Charles was dead, I knew what had happened. Monsieur had even taken me to Deauville … he wanted me to
see
it happen! I confronted him about it and that’s when he threatened Amélie, because he knew I would believe him.”

“But you have no evidence?”

“None. Only a description of the man who did it. He was on the
boat with Charles, a casual crewman picked up in Deauville. He came back alone and said that Charles had been swept overboard. His skull had been fractured. The autopsy was hurried, it was all over in a day. Monsieur had arranged everything,” she added bitterly. “Caro, Alphonse, and I searched everywhere for the man, but without any luck.”

“And Amélie? Does she know about you?”

“No,” said Léonie wearily, “I doubt she even knows I exist. It was the safest way.”

“Right, now I have the facts. Monsieur still doesn’t know where the girl is—despite his constant vigilance. So at the moment she is safe … and has been for almost fifteen years. Yet he’s crazy enough to keep after you, to keep on spying and following you, he still believes he can force you to go back to him. There’s only one way to stop a man like that and that’s a counterthreat. We must discover the identity of Charles’s assassin. Monsieur must have paid—and paid well—for him to remain quiet all these years.”

“But we tried,” she said despairingly. “And it was all so long ago, who would remember?”

“Will you let me try?” he asked gently. “I promise you, if he’s still alive, I’ll find him. And then I’ll take care of Monsieur.”

“You don’t know Monsieur … you can have no idea what he’s like. Don’t forget he’s a public figure, Jim, he has so much power, he can do anything.”

“Léonie, no one—not even a powerful man—can escape a charge of murder. He would have to face it … or he would have to give in. He sounds like a proud man to me. Those two sons you mentioned must be growing up, how can he let them think their father is a murderer! No, we’d have him, Léonie. I’m going to trace that man. Leave it to me.”

She sagged against him as relief flowed through her. How had she ever lived without this man, but could he really make it all right?

“And now there’s the other problem,” he said, putting his arms around her and holding her. Her hair floated around them in the sea breeze and he tilted up her face, lit by the stars and a scudding moon. “Is this the face of a goddess? Or is it a woman? A mortal like the rest of us. Léonie, you can’t seriously think you are the reincarnation of some Egyptian goddess … don’t you see, it’s something you’ve brought on yourself. Sekhmet’s destiny isn’t yours. It’s you who are allowing the poem to influence your life.
You told me yourself there are two ‘Léonies.’ Isn’t that Sekhmet on stage, not you?”

“But it’s true, don’t you see.…”

“No!” he replied firmly. “It’s not true and I’m not going to let you believe that. Don’t you realize what you’re doing … you’re preparing yourself to kill Monsieur!”

He was right. She was preparing herself. She had always known that one day she would kill him.

“You are Léonie Bahri,” he said firmly. “You are not Sekhmet and your destiny is not ruled by some mysterious force from Egypt. Because of what happened, you’ve allowed yourself to believe that her fate is yours. You’ve dwelt on it for years until it seems like reality. But it’s over now. Do you understand, Léonie: it’s over!”

She wanted so much to believe him—he was always right, he always knew how to solve problems. Had she just in her isolation lost her identity to Sekhmet?

“There’ll be no more Sekhmet, no more Léonie—not even Léonie Bahri. You’ll start a new life as Mrs. Léonie Jamieson.”

“Oh, Jim, can you really make everything all right? Can you free me at last of Monsieur?”

“I promise you. And without Monsieur, there’s no need for Sekhmet.”

She leaned against his hard chest while he held her close, crushing her against him so that she would never run away again.

“And I promise you something else, Léonie. One day you’ll meet your daughter … we’ll find her.”

“Amélie—but how? She doesn’t know I’m alive.”

“Sshh,” he said soothingly, “leave it all to me.”

The burden she had carried alone for so long seemed suddenly, miraculously lighter, shared by Jim with his strong shoulders and his calm logical thinking. “Jim Jamieson,” she said holding him tightly, “your mother was right to call you Homer and Alexander … you’re a thinker and a fighter, and I don’t know how I ever lived this long without you.”

“Then marry me, Léonie,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she said, “I want to be Léonie Jamieson.”

The first thing he did was turn Sekhmet’s face to the wall. “We ought to get rid of her,” he had said firmly, but Léonie had been so upset by the idea that he gave in.

“It’s because she was my father’s,” she pleaded. “I must keep her.”

“Not because of Sekhmet?” he demanded. “Are you sure?”

She was almost sure.

“And what about this one … the cat?”

“That’s Bastet, the sacred cat.”

He smiled. “Do I detect a strange resemblance to Chocolat? Is that why you got her?”

“Oh, no … no,” she said, remembering how it was Bébé who had found
her
.

So the statues stayed and he turned his attention to other matters.

True to form, he charmed the mayor of Nice into giving them a special license. He arrived home waving it triumphantly in his hand. “We can be married tomorrow,” he announced happily.

“Oh, but I can’t … not tomorrow.”

“Why ever not?” he groaned. “What’s wrong now?”

“It’s just that I’ve never been married before … and I want to be your bride. I want to look beautiful and special. Besides, I couldn’t possibly get married without my dearest friends here with me.”