Sins of the Flesh (51 page)

Philippe reached for her hand. “I'm younger than you.” It was such an inane thing to say that he laughed, and so did Lizzie.

“I never did pay attention to numbers,” Lizzie said softly.

“I'll be back,” Philippe promised.

She nodded. “I'll be here. You better hurry, you have a long drive ahead of you. I'll be thinking of you. Good luck, Philip.”

By now they'd reached the car, where Mike waited impatiently. Philippe turned to Lizzie, searching her eyes with an intensity of emotion. “I want to kiss you so badly, but I can't. When this is…settled…”

Lizzie reached up and kissed him warmly on the cheek. “Whatever you do, Philip, don't let Mike get the acting bug. He's a big enough ham as it is,” she said lightly.

Philippe grinned. “Can't you just see his puss on the big screen?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, let's go,” Mike blustered. Damn, how did she do it, he wondered. How did she always know exactly what he was thinking? Hell, acting was just a simple matter of make-believe, and he had as much charisma as any of those stars in Hollywood. He glowered at his sister, who was laughing as she waved them off.

“It's a long ride, Phil,” Mike said as they neared the highway. “What say we talk. You talk so I stay awake. Everything, all of it from the earliest time you can remember. Suddenly I need to know who you are. I think you might get serious about my sister, and I…dammit, I want to know. I'll have you in the City of Angels for breakfast. That's a lot of hours away.”

So Philippe talked nonstop as Mike drove, grunting from time to time to show he was awake. When they reached the outskirts of Los Angeles the sun was starting to rise. Mike pulled into a gas station to get the tank filled, then leaned back in his seat with a weary sigh and stretched. When at last he turned to Philippe, his eyes were soft and filled with understanding. “You'll do, Tarz,” he said. Philippe's heart lightened.

When Mike had paid the gas station attendant and pocketed his change, he said, “Okay, let's get this show on the road. How much farther?”

“Thirty minutes, give or take,” Philippe said uneasily.

“Nervous?”

“Hell, yes, I've been gone for almost four years.”

“My best advice is be yourself. You do owe an explanation, but don't drag it out, for God's sake. Your mother will understand.”

The sun was an hour into the sky when Philippe told Mike to turn left. “My mother usually walks her dog about now. Maybe we should wait here. No, let's leave the car here and walk up to the house.”

Mike shrugged. “Fine with me. This is your show. I can wait here if you like.”

“I don't like. Come with me.”

 

Inside the mansion the children were trooping into the dining room for breakfast when both dogs suddenly went wild. Bebe raised her head in alarm. Someone was out there. Her first thought was that Reuben had returned. She ran to the door and opened it in time to see two incredibly tall young men dressed in white, walking up the driveway. Her hand flew to her mouth. Dear God, it was Philippe! She turned to the children and cried, “It's Philippe, he's come home!” And then she ran, her robe flying out behind her, her slippers flopping beneath her feet, the dogs ahead of her, sixteen children running behind her. She felt herself being lifted high in the air.

“The prodigal returns,” Philippe said loudly enough to be heard over the clamoring around him.

“Jesus, and you said
my
family was loud,” Mike shouted as he backed up several steps.

“Oh, Philippe, I was so worried! We tried to find you for so long. We didn't know what to do,” Bebe said, her voice trembling with tears. “And—oh, you look so handsome, just like your father….”

Philippe scooped Bruno up with one arm, keeping the other around his mother's shoulder. “Mother, this is Mike Almeda, we flew together. Mike, this is my mother.”

Bebe glanced from Philippe to Mike and back again, her mouth open. “Flew?…Dear God, you flew airplanes! It's nice to meet you, Mike. Where?”

“Pacific. I thought for sure I'd get assigned to the European front, but”—he shrugged—“no such luck. Did…has…?”

“No, Philippe, we haven't had a single word from your father,” Bebe replied. “We do know he's safe, though. The children…but that was so long ago. When we got his last installment we knew he was safe then…but…I don't think he's going to come back. There's so much to talk about…so many things…. Listen, have you had breakfast? Let's go inside, I have to feed the children. Afterward you'll want to talk to them. They were the last ones to be with your mother.”

“I saw
The Sands of Time,
” Philippe told her. “Last night. If I hadn't seen it, I don't know if I would ever have come back. I don't know if I'm going to stay now. I still have to be mustered out and put on reserve status.”

Bebe nodded. “I understand. Tell me, what did you think of the movie?” She stopped then, her face full of horror. “That's how you found out about…about Mickey. Oh, I'm so sorry, Philippe. When we received the last installment we had practically everyone in the world looking for you. I wanted you to hear it from me, but I guess it wasn't meant to be.”

Philippe was silent for a moment, his eyes dark and far away. “The movie was…it was…”

“Sensational,” Mike supplied as he extricated himself from the two dogs bent on climbing up his leg.

“It was superb. I think my father will be very proud. Novice that I am, I could see that it was a masterpiece of direction.” Philippe hesitated. “How authentic…what I mean is, did…you add…”

“No, Philippe, we didn't gild anything,” Bebe assured him. “What you saw is what happened. When you speak with the children they'll tell you. I don't think they'll ever forget it.”

“How did you get the children here?” Philippe asked several minutes later as he slipped a piece of sausage to Willie under the table.

“Daniel's friends,” Bebe replied. “The Red Cross got hold of a priest in Madrid who was willing to undertake the pilgrimage. Once your father and Mickey and Yvette got them over the Pyrenees, they were taken to a convent school. Reuben told them he would come back for them, but…that's the part we don't know about. Only the end was fabricated, the part where I take them back, and actually that isn't a fabrication at all. I am taking them back after the awards ceremony.”

Suddenly Bruno let loose with a long string of French punctuated every so often with the words
red wagon
. Bebe smiled indulgently. “Bruno, speak English. You must practice. Philippe will be happy to discuss anything with you provided you speak English.”

Bruno sighed. Philippe's eyes grew moist when the little boy looked up and pleaded, “I must know, Monsieur Philippe, if the red wagon is truly mine. Mademoiselle Mickey and Monsieur Tarz said this is so, but they are not here.”

“It is totally and completely yours, my little friend. Will you pull your dog in it like I used to do?”

“Egg-zackerly.” Bruno beamed. Such a little thing to mean so much to a child, such a marvelous promise his mother made.

“Come along, let's go outside in the sunshine and talk,” Philippe said quietly.

“Run along, no lessons today. Remember, you must speak to Philippe in English,” Bebe ordered.

“More coffee, Mike?” she asked when Philippe had gone outside with the children.

He nodded, and she poured him a refill. As they stared across the table at each other warily, Mike made a pretense of drinking the coffee he didn't want. “How bad is it?” he asked finally.

Bebe sighed. “Pretty bad. Nellie has everything, all his holdings and his half of the studio. The television experiment is starting to roll. Technically, he has nothing. I don't know if the courts will intervene. Nellie is claiming the child she has is Philippe's. I don't believe it is. However, we can't prove it. I have a feeling Nellie would contest a divorce. She'll say the war changed him, damaged him somehow, and she'll come across as a sympathetic young mother who kept the home fires burning.”

“Philippe is in love with my sister,” Mike said quietly.

Bebe stared at him. “And your sister?” she asked at last.

“I think she feels the same way.” He told her about his family's part in Philippe's decision to return. “He's hurting, Mrs. Tarz, real bad.”

“I know that. But there's nothing I can do. I'm…for him to find out his mother is dead by watching a movie, that's so terrible. My heart is bleeding for him. If there were anything I could do, I'd do it.”

“He knows that, Mrs. Tarz. He's not negating his share of the blame in all of this. He can petition the courts, for whatever good it will do him.” Mike shrugged. “At least it's a place to start.”

“I'm so glad he had someone like you these past years. When he left here, he—” Bebe's voice broke, and she had to clear her throat to continue. “The studio is…it's like it was when Philippe's father took it over years ago. I don't know if it can be built up again. We've lost so much time, it would take so much work.”

“In the navy we say it's time to batten down the hatches,” Mike told her. “You just plant both feet on the ground and start to move forward, and you don't look back.”

Bebe nodded. “Is Philippe planning on going to see Nellie today?”

“I think so. There's no sense in putting it off. I think he wants to get it over with as soon as possible.”

“If that's the case, then I'd better call Nellie's father and have him there. I'd like him to hear what Philippe has to say.”

Mike sighed. “It's a hell of a mess, and Phil doesn't deserve this.”

“I agree. Look, you've been driving all night. Why don't you go upstairs and get some sleep,” Bebe suggested. “Take any bedroom.”

“You'll call me if you need me?” Mike said, rising.

“Yes, I will. And I'll try to keep the children quiet.”

“Don't do that. I love to hear kids laughing and playing.” He grinned. “I must have a hundred cousins. They won't bother me. I like that little guy Bruno and the way he's holding on to that red wagon. I bet if it you'd gone out and bought him one, he wouldn't touch it.”

“You're right, that's why I didn't do it,” Bebe said. “It's all part of going home, and by home I mean the château where the wagon is. He's so little, so lost. The others are his family. It's so sad it breaks my heart.”

“Mine, too,” Mike muttered as he made his way upstairs.

 

It was midmorning when Philippe walked into the kitchen. Bebe noticed immediately that the tension seemed to have gone out of him. His eyes were dry, but then, she knew they would be. There was a sense of peace and a calmness about her son that she'd never seen before. The children had done that for him. Smiling, he poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Great bunch of kids,” he said. “There are things I want to say to you, apologies I want to make…things I want to ask…but somehow none of those things seem important now except maybe the apology. I wish my father were here.”

“I wish he were, too,” Bebe said quietly. “But you don't have to apologize to me for anything. I did what I had to do just as you did. As long as both of us understand that, we're okay. Someday your father will know. I rather think he knows now.”

Philippe set his cup in the sink. “Time to beard the…lioness. Any advice?”

“I've been thinking, Philippe. I'll give you an hour, and then I'll call Daniel and tell him to go to Nellie's.” She frowned, fingering her coffee cup thoughtfully. “He needs to hear what you have to say. He's stood by Nellie. In my heart I don't think he believes her, but I can't be absolutely sure. Tell the truth, and if you want to make demands, then you make them. You do whatever you feel you have to do. I am behind you 100 percent.”

Philippe smiled. “Mike's father said exactly the same thing. I guess I'll wing it.”

“Wait here a minute. Don't leave till I get back.” Bebe ran to her room and rummaged through her desk until she found the stock certificates Reuben had returned to her. Flipping them over, she scribbled her name and then ran back down the stairs into the kitchen.

“Here,” she said, holding out the certificates, suddenly shy. “They belong to you. I never did want them, not really. So, you see, you aren't exactly penniless. Nellie needs to know that. You'll be starting off even. What you do from there on in is up to you.”

Philippe was stunned. “I can't…you don't have to…”

“I want to. I've never been able to give you anything. I can give you this, and I know I speak for Reuben when I tell you it's what he would want. Please, Philippe, accept it,” Bebe pleaded.

He stared at the papers in his hand, then looked up into her eyes. “I don't know what to say.”

“‘Thank you' will do nicely,” Bebe said, smiling. “Go along now and stay there till Daniel arrives.”

The moment the door closed behind her son, Bebe ran up the stairs a second time. Once again she rummaged through her desk, papers flying in every direction. When she found what she was looking for, she jammed it into her purse, then ripped at her clothes and dressed quickly.

Three minutes later she was careening down the driveway, headed for Daniel Bishop's offices. She arrived just in time to meet Daniel getting off the elevator. Eyeing her warily, he invited her into his office.

“What's wrong?” he asked, offering her a chair.

Bebe pulled out the old agreement he'd signed, the one she'd used in the conference room three and a half years earlier. “I'm calling this in now,” she declared. “Three and a half years ago, when you voted the way I wanted you to, it was all rescinded by the judge's order. That means you still owe me, Daniel, and I want to collect
now.
I don't want to hear any of your legal bullshit, and I don't want any ifs, ands, or buts. All I want is for you to go over to your safe and give me your two shares of voting stock…. Look, Mickey's dead,” she hurried on when she saw the look of utter astonishment on Daniel's face. “Your daughter wiped out Philippe's fortune, the fortune Mickey secured for him because she thought of him as her son, and he is…was her son, more her son than he ever will be to me. So I want those shares for Philippe, Daniel, and I want them now!”