Peach
Authors: Elizabeth Adler
LEONIE—She was still beautiful, still powerful, the chanteuse who’d shocked all Europe and could see herself now in her beloved granddaughters …
PEACH—The ravishing beauty who inherited her grandfather’s obsession with business and her grandmother’s dark, passionate drives …
LAIS—Peach’s beloved older sister, who lived with reckless abandon until war gave her a purpose, a passion, and nearly took her life …
LEONORE—Lais’s twin, who deceived her sister in love and vowed to carry her shameful secret to her grave …
FERDI—The right man at the wrong times: the German officer who loved his enemy at risk of his life; the postwar aristocrat who sought the woman he’d lost in the sister who couldn’t say no …
NOEL—Only Peach knew his secret past; only she could thwart his dreams. For love, for money, for dreams of glory, he was the one man she couldn’t touch—until she fell into his waiting arms.
“SOLID, ENTERTAINING … UNUSUAL SETTINGS AND SUSPENSEFUL WARTIME SCENES.”
—
Publishers Weekly
“IMMENSELY READABLE ENTERTAINMENT.”
—
Kirkus Reviews
Published by
Dell Publishing
a division of
Random House, Inc.
Cole Porter’s song “I Get a Kick out of You,” © 1934 Harms Inc., is reproduced by permission of Chappell Music Limited, London.
I would like to thank M. Arnaud de Mareuil of Champagne Moët et Chandon, Épernay, whose memories of his father Camille de Mareuil’s and the Comte de Vogüe’s work with the Resistance during World War II, along with M. Jean-Paul Médard’s wealth of anecdotes, provided an authentic background for a chapter of this work of fiction.
Thanks too, to Wang UK Ltd, whose splendid word processor saved hours of valuable time.
And, most of all, thanks to my wonderful editor, Maureen Waller, who gave of her time and talents most generously.
This work was first published in Great Britain by Hodder & Stoughton Limited.
Copyright © 1986 by Lisana Limited
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.
For information address: Delacorte Press, New York, New York.
The trademark Dell
®
is registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office.
eISBN: 978-0-307-57499-2
Reprinted by arrangement with Delacorte Press
v3.1
The night was black, without a glimmer of moon or even a single star, and a chill wind searched across the plains, rustling the endless stretches of grain in a sad, rippling lullaby.
The girl was young. Her cheap, brashly patterned summer dress clung to her too-thin body, inching its way up her pale thighs as she struggled from the car with her burden. Standing in the road, she gazed doubtfully at the gravel driveway. She could just make out the outline of a large building lit by the flickering gleam of a single lamp.
“Go on. Hurry up, will ya,” a man’s voice commanded her from the car. “Get it done and let’s get out of here.”
Stumbling in her high heels, the girl walked down the dark driveway, breathing quickly, clutching the bundle close to her, gasping with pain as she turned her ankle on the treacherous gravel. The walk seemed endless, dark with nameless fears. A walk that would cut her off from her future.
Steps, worn by the frequent scrubbing of unwilling hands, gleamed in the sudden lamplight. Trembling, she lay down her burden, wrapping its blue blanket firmly and checking the pin that held it closed. Lifting her eyes she read the sign inscribed in letters wrought from steel,
MADDOX CHARITY ORPHANAGE
. Est. 1885. Her eyes fell to the motionless blue bundle. “No message,” the man had said, “no notes or they will be able to trace you.” The wind soughed down the drive
chilling her, and she glanced hesitantly at the polished brass doorbell. She could ring it and then run, she’d be gone before anyone answered. But what if she weren’t?
The lamplight caught the pale gleam of her legs and the flimsy scarlet stiletto-heeled shoes as she turned and ran, tripping on the gravel, back down the driveway to the waiting car and her lover. She was free.
The sudden sound of the engine and the roar of its loose exhaust pipe startled the child from his sleep. Struggling in his cocoon of blankets he began to cry, a tiny sound at first, growing louder and then louder until it became a roar. A great shout of anger.
Two women in flannel dressing-gowns and curlers pulled back the massive bolts and threw open the door. “Another baby,” said one to the other. “It’s the third this month; whatever shall we do with them all?”
“Folks shouldn’t go getting themselves kids they don’t want,” grumbled the other, bending to pick up the screaming bundle. “My God, this one’s gonna give us trouble, listen to him yell.”
“I’ll call the police,” said the first, “she can’t have gotten far.”
“Far enough. I heard the car. We’re too close to the county line here—they should’ve thought of that when they built this place. We get the illegitimate brats from four counties and no chance of finding the mothers. Well, what is it, a boy or a girl?”
The woman unpinned the blanket and lifted the baby, red-faced and still yelling. “A boy,” she said, “no more than a couple of days old.”
“We’d better take him upstairs and give him a bottle. Maybe it’ll stop him yelling before he wakes up the entire place.”
Wrapping the blue blanket around him they moved across the cold, darkened hallway.
“What shall we call him?” asked one of the other as they mounted the uncarpeted stairs.
“Noel,” she replied firmly.
“But it’s April,” protested the other. “Noel’s a name given to children born on Christmas Day.”
The woman’s laugh rang harshly in the dark. “Let him have a Christmas name then. It’s the closest he’ll get to Christmas in here.”