Studios. Morgan Guaranty Trust in New York handled all Bouchet’s business. Philippe Bouchet wasn’t safe in France, and Mickey wanted him to get him out. But why not ask Reuben to help? Because…because…Daniel’s memory strained. Get him to his father…. Mickey had sounded…as if he, Daniel, should know who Philippe’s father was.
Suddenly Daniel stopped in his tracks. Oh, Jesus, Jesus…of course! Reuben was…Philippe was…had to be. All these years…it would explain so much. Bebe, Reuben, Mickey, himself. That magic time…France. He must be, how old now? Twenty, twenty-one, Reuben’s age when he…
Reuben didn’t know…had no idea…That’s why she called me, Daniel thought dizzily. Bebe must have given birth, and…Mickey kept the child. Yes, it made sense. Mickey would keep the child because he was Reuben’s son. She wouldn’t have allowed Bebe to abort or give away the child for adoption. That’s why she never answered…. All these years and we never knew!
Daniel wept then for his friend Reuben who had never known his son, and for the faceless Philippe who had never known his father.
Nellie stood in the doorway of the sunroom, watching her stepfather. She’d never seen a man cry before. Surely he wasn’t crying over her mother. When was he going to realize she wasn’t worth tears, or even consideration, for that matter? It was a pity he’d never learned how to play the game. How often she’d been tempted to tell him the rules, but for some reason she’d always changed her mind. She didn’t love her mother. Actually, she detested her. But she was fond of her stepfather because he genuinely seemed to care about her. Yet she didn’t love him, either. If she loved anything, it was money. Money. Jewels. Power. They all went together. When she was ten she’d wanted different colored bicycles. When she was twelve she’d wanted a stable of horses, all jumpers. When she was fourteen she’d wanted clothes and cosmetics and a magnificent bedroom and a swimming pool. When she was sixteen she’d wanted her own car, a fancy roadster that would turn heads. At seventeen she’d still wanted all those things and to be beautiful. Now that she was eighteen she wanted more; she wanted to be filthy rich and to be powerful at a very young age. She had two of the three ingredients she thought would make her happy—she had beauty and brains—but she didn’t have the money.
Sensing her presence, Daniel turned. He did his best to smile.
“Here,” Nellie said, handing him a tissue. “Blow your nose, that’s what you always tell me.” She smiled.
Daniel accepted the tissue. Lord, this stepdaughter of his was a vision of loveliness. The long golden braid hanging down her back and the wispy curls around her face made her look fifteen and so vulnerable. Lashes, thick and dark, complemented her soft gray-green eyes, eyes that were now full of concern for him.
She was nibbling on her full lower lip, her perfectly aligned teeth, thanks to an excellent orthodontist, reminding him suddenly of Rajean, whose sharp teeth were so white that they were suspect.
The long braid swished against her silk pajamas as she perched herself on her father’s knee and nuzzled his cheek. “Daddy, don’t worry about Mother, she’s like a pigeon, she always comes home. If you’re upset about her, or if there’s something you know…I wish you’d tell me.”
“I had an urgent call, and then the lines went down. I feel helpless. I should be making several calls right now, and I can’t.” Long, thin fingers raked at his sandy hair in a frenzy.
“For heaven’s sake, Daddy, if it’s that important, go down to the boat and use the ship-to-shore phone. Is it serious?” she asked.
Daniel slapped at his forehead. “Now, why didn’t I think of that? Yes, honey, it’s serious, but not for us, so don’t start worrying about things. It’s late, go back to bed, and I’ll go down to the boat.”
Nellie bent to kiss the top of her father’s head. “Wear your slicker,” she admonished him.
“Yes, ma’am,” Daniel drawled. How nice it was to know she cared about him. He took an extra moment to hug his daughter and tell her he loved her. He beamed his pleasure when she echoed his response.
Daniel slogged his way through the driving rain to the pier and climbed aboard his cabin cruiser, the Sugar Baby. When he had his thoughts under control and a cigarette in hand, he began to wonder if he was wrong about the identity of Philippe Bouchet. Should he call Reuben? No, why upset his friend’s world with wild assumptions? First he had to deal with Mickey’s request.
There was no doubt in his mind that he would do all in his power to help Mickey. He owed everything he had in life to two people: Reuben and Mickey. Without their help and encouragement, their love and support, he shuddered to think what might have happened to him. How he was going to fulfill Mickey’s request was another question. He had a certain amount of clout in D.C., but not enough to wangle transportation to war-torn Europe. And Reuben couldn’t help him with this one. Max, Reuben’s underworld friend, probably couldn’t help him, either. That left only his own influential friends from Harvard days. If there was any way at all to get to Europe, Rocky Rockefeller would find it and Jerry Vanderbilt would ease the path. They wouldn’t ask questions, either, which was all to the good.
The ship-to-shore operator took down both numbers Daniel gave her and said she would place the calls back to back. When Rocky’s groggy voice came over the static-filled wire, Daniel identified himself immediately. Rocky became alert instantly at the sound of his friend’s troubled voice. After he’d listened to the problem Daniel outlined to him, he didn’t hesitate. “Jesus, Daniel, right now your chances of getting to the moon are better than France. I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t promise—I’ll do my best. You okay, buddy?”
“Pretty much so. I wouldn’t ask if this wasn’t…Hey, I didn’t mention that transportation back includes someone else…a friend.” Daniel let that sink in. “I’m heading home first thing in the morning. You can reach me at the office if you need to.”
“Hell, I wasn’t in the mood for sleep anyway,” Rocky groused good-naturedly. “Did you get to Jerry yet?”
“No, I’ve got a call in to him, though.”
“I’ll call him for you. Sit tight and one of us will get back to you.”
“Rocky—thanks,” Daniel said.
Rocky laughed. “I always wondered how you were going to call in your favor.”
“What favor?”
“You told me I owed you my life for all the clean underwear I used to borrow from you. Remember?”
“Yeah! And I also remember the pile of dirty underwear…. Listen, seriously now, I’ll owe you my life if you pull this off.”
“I’ll talk to you in the morning. Try to get some sleep.”
Daniel canceled his call to Jerry and made himself a stiff drink. The rain had stopped, and a low fog hung over the ocean. The sound of a far-off foghorn nuzzled itself into the surrounding air while the lighthouse searchlight swooped overhead at regular intervals, brazenly passing through the swirling mists. Daniel sat in his spacious cabin and allowed the swaying of the boat to calm his nerves. There was no way in hell he would sleep, so why pretend.
Paybacks always rolled around, and they could be a bitch. Had he ever given any thought to his and Reuben’s payback? Yes, hundreds of times, but that’s all they were—thoughts. He wasn’t even thinking of financial payback; that one was easy, that one was over and done with. This one, as they said, was the real McCoy. He was piss-assed scared. Not for himself, but for Reuben. And for Mickey, too. Dear, wonderful Mickey.
It was all so long ago. Maybe he should just sit here and go over everything, clear the air, clear his mind. Get everything in order. What really went on in France after the Great War? He realized now that he might not have all the answers, but he was determined to try to search for them. Reuben and Mickey, Mickey and Reuben. Mickey and Reuben and himself. She’d dubbed them the Three Musketeers…He was getting ahead of himself. He drained his drink and made another. What came