(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)
Chapter Ten: "Madame Guillotine"
"Good morning," Louise sighed, walking into her mother's bathroom and jumping up to sit on the sink.
Olivia glanced over, watching her daughter toss her hair over her shoulder. "Sleep well?"
She shrugged. "Not bad. This house makes weird noises though."
"It does not make noise," she chuckled, brushing rouge onto her cheekbones.
"It does," the teenager insisted, picking at the plaid skirt of her school uniform. "Not as much noise as the house in Cape Town, but enough."
"Well, the next time I buy a house, I'll tell the realtor to make sure it's a quiet house."
Louise grinned, smoothing her knee socks. "You're making fun of me?"
"Just a little," she said, leaning in to kiss her daughter's cheek. "You're up early," she pointed out, hearing Louise follow her out of the bathroom. "I don't think Theresa has your breakfast ready yet."
"Good. Can you listen to my presentation then? I think I've got it timed to five minutes."
She nodded, walking into her closet. "What's it about?"
"Well, we're reading Hamlet and we need to…"
Louise's words ebbed over her, comforting and soft as she changed into her clothes. A new wardrobe…a new job…a new house…a new life, she thought to herself. The oval mirror stood in the corner of the walk-in closet and she turned, admiring the cut of the business suit. Instantly, she imagine Gregory behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist to unbutton the blouse. Her cheeks flamed as a proud smirk spread across her face. They may be living apart, but the hours at the Liberty offices were long. "And, the meetings even longer," she murmured, wondering briefly if the delicate material would wrinkle when Gregory stripped her. For the first time in her life, she was truly enjoying herself.
"Mom?" Louise called. "Can I start?"
She gulped, smoothing down her hair as she stepped out of the closet. "Yes, Lou. Go ahead."
"Ok, just imagine the music."
"Music?"
"Mo-om," she whined, rolling her eyes as she put her hands on her hips, "were you even listening to a word I said?"
"Relax, Lulu," Thomas said, breezing into the bedroom, "Mom's got Liberty on the brain."
"What do you mean?" Olivia asked sharply as her son held up two ties against his shirt.
"Red or blue?" he asked, ignoring his mother's question. "Gregory's letting me sit in on a meeting with the partners from New York."
"Blue," Louise snapped, tapping her foot impatiently. "Now, can someone please listen to my speech?"
Olivia reached for her son's hand and turned it to see the watch on his wrist. "I'm timing you. Go ahead, Lou." She turned back to her son, her eyebrow arched. "What did you mean?" she asked in a whisper.
He shrugged as he looped the blue tie around his neck and began twisting it into a Windsor knot. "What? About you being busy?"
A sigh of relief consumed her as she nodded, glancing quickly to nod at Louise. "This development project is taking on a life of its own."
He chuckled. "Gregory told me about the hippies," he said, causing his mother to roll her eyes.
"They're one of my many meetings for the day." She smiled at her son, watching as he straightened his tie. "Have a good day, Darling."
"Thanks. You too." Thomas grinned as she turned back to listen to Louise, nodding encouragingly. He leaned over the dresser and gazed into the mirror, wondering if he had made a mistake with the tie choice when he noticed his mother's bed in the reflection. He narrowed his eyes, squinting to discern the splash of maroon amongst the pale blue sheets.
Turning slowly, he walked over to the bed, his mother's back to him. With itchy fingers, he reached down and gently pulled a man's tie free from the fluffy pillows. His stomach flipped as he stared down at it, the silk material burning his hand. He looked up at his mother, his expression blank as he slowly folded the tie and tucked it into his pocket.
"Mrs. Douglas?"
Olivia looked up as her secretary stood in the doorway, gesturing her next meeting in. She looked at the young man's eager smile and grimaced as she stood, coming around the desk. This stranger had a large briefcase in his hand and, despite the polite smile, a mysterious look clouded his eyes. "Mr. St. John?"
Cole nodded, clearing his throat as he held out his hand. "Mrs. Douglas, it's a pleasure to finally meet you," he said, laying his French accent on thick. "I've been looking forward to this meeting for some time."
She nodded to her secretary, who turned and left, closing the door softly behind her. "Have you?" she asked, gesturing him into a chair.
"Absolument," he smiled as he sat his briefcase aside and watch her sit behind the desk. He took a moment to glance around the office, the honey wood accented by crème-colored cushions and hues of gold and rose. A framed photo stood in the corner of the desk, its back to him, but he could imagine the proud photo of her two children. A woman's office, he sniffed as he turned back to her, settling his briefcase on his lap. "It was worth the wait to get on your calendar."
"And, you came all the way from Paris for me?"
"Well, yes…and no." He watched her eyebrow arch as she leaned back, amused but curious. "It was the lure of the Deschanel jewel collection." Her expression fell away, replaced by trepidation as she sat up. "But, please, allow me to first express my deepest condolences on the loss of your husband."
She nodded as his dark eyes locked on her, a shiver chasing up her spine. "What about the jewels?" she asked softly.
"I'm the assistant curator at the Musee du Bourbon." He held out a business card, finally pleased with the chance to let someone other than Annie see the fake card. "Alas, we are less well-known than some of our sister museums, but we maintain a collection of 6,400 pieces."
She nodded, glancing briefly at his card before she set it aside. "I haven't been to Paris in some time," she said, as if that explained her unfamiliarity with his museum.
"Oh, that is a pity," he sighed. "Paris would agree with a woman as beautiful as you." But, she barely smiled and he crossed his legs, content to wait her out. Her eyes looked back at him, growing warier with each passing second of pregnant silence. With every passing second, his pleasure grew. He had waited years for this moment. "The Deschanel jewels interest me," he said finally, watching her eyes darken a shade.
"Why?" Her voice was flat, her question nearly accusing.
Cole bit back a smile and shrugged. "Beautiful things interest me," he replied simply. "And the pieces are stunning."
"You've seen them? How?"
"Oui." He reached for his briefcase and popped the locks, pulling out a large piece of thick paper. As he turned it around to her, she realized it was a poster print of painting. A pale woman, her hair powdered, stood by a harpsichord, the wide skirt of her ornate gown flowing around her. "Meet Gabrielle Victoire de Sannois, the Duchesse du Chatel. This reproduction diminishes the portrait's use of color and light, but I trust you recognize the diamonds around her neck?" She nodded, the necklace from the Deschanel collection impossible to mistake. "Do you know the story of how the Deschanel jewels came to be, Mrs. Douglas?"
"No."
"Ah, then you are in for a story," he said, passing her the poster to examine. "Rene Augustin Edouard Deschanel was a minor official during the Revolution. He was one of the many young men who heeded the call to free themselves from the oppressive monarchy. Rene became an intimate of Robespierre's and, as a result, he went far in the First Republic. Then, in 1793, the Terror began. La Reine, Marie Antoinette, was one of it's first victims."
Olivia looked up from the portrait of Gabrielle, her hand trembling as she sensed the change in his tone. "And her?"
"The Duchesse du Chatel, like so many men and women of the aristocracy who didn't manage to flee the country, was imprisoned after the Revolution and ultimately lost her head to Madame Guillotine. Robespierre was convinced the new republic was wrought with conspiracies and monarchists. Rene was tasked with seeking them out. Those brought before him were interrogated, tried and sentenced to death. 'To forgive was barbarous' and Rene extracted his last revenge by confiscating the belongings of the walking dead."
She swallowed hard, turning back to the extravagant necklace in the portrait. Cole's voice echoed around her as he whispered, "He built his jewel collection by ripping them from the women he sent to the guillotine. His luck ran out though when public sentiment turned against Robespierre. They were both sent to the guillotine in July 1794. But, the Deschanel family kept the jewels and the other riches Rene stole."
Her stomach turned and she passed the poster back, no longer able to stand Gabrielle's innocently sweet smile. "And, these are the jewels you find so interesting?"
"But, of course!" he exclaimed. "Despite the way they were amassed, you possess one of the most complete collections of 18th century French jewels. Of course, I don't believe the myth of the curse." He watched Olivia freeze and look up slowly, her face deathly pale. "But there are some who insist the jewels are cursed, haunted by their former owners. As such, tragedy has seemed to befall every generation of the Deschanel family…or anyone else who owns them."
She forced herself to chuckle, brushing her hair back. Ice dripped in her stomach and her heart pounded as she leaned forward. "Mr. St. John-"
"Cole, please," he said, flashing her a smile.
"What exactly to you want from me?"
"Your permission to bring the jewels home to France. I'd like to display them in my museum."
"No," she replied immediately, her breath rushing out in a deep sigh.
"Mrs. Douglas, I don't know that you realize what this would mean to my museum – to my country – for these jewels to return home for exhibition. The Terror is a stain on-"
"My answer," she said, her voice low and serious, "is no. The jewels are securely locked away and they will remain there." Forever, gathering dust since they can't rot in Hell.
Cole's hands clenched, balled into tight fists as he watched her. She regained the color in her face at an alarming rate, her eyes flashing as she stood. He forced himself to stand, his fists loosening as he picked up his briefcase and the poster. "There is nothing I can say to change your mind?"
"There is not," she replied as the door to her office swung open, preceded by a brief knock. She looked over, relief flooding through her as Gregory stood in the doorway.
"I didn't realize I was interrupting," he said, glancing from Olivia to Cole and back again. "Your secretary wasn't at her desk, so…"
"It's fine," she said, swallowing her unease. "We're through." She turned back to Cole, who held out the reproduction of Gabrielle.
"Please, I'd like you to have this," he said, waiting for her to take the poster. "Perhaps seeing her will make you reconsider."
She shook her head, her hands resting on the desk. "Mr. St. John, I promise you: I will never change my mind."
He forced a smile to his lips, setting the poster on her desk. "A memento then." He held out his hand, waiting until she reluctantly shook it. "I wish you well, Mrs. Douglas."
Olivia followed him to the door of her office, her hand brushing against Gregory's as she passed him. But, Cole stopped and turned abruptly, a question dancing in his expression. "Mrs. Douglas, before I go…how is it that you and your late husband acquired the Deschanel jewels?"
She froze, her hand dancing on the doorknob as she opened her mouth. Gregory's eyes were on her too and she suddenly felt sick, bile rising in her throat. "Wh- what?"
Cole thrived on her paralysis, watching the way her eyes narrowed as she clutched the door, searching for an explanation. Surely, she knows the truth. "I wasn't able to locate any record of sale, nor any notice of the collection ever being up for auction." He waited patiently, watching as she finally looked up, glancing at Gregory before turning back to him.
"Well, my husband and I knew…AJ Deschanel. D- Del won them from him in Monte Carlo," she stammered. "A card game."
The obvious lie hung in the room and Cole paused, briefly meeting Gregory's suspicious eyes. "I see," he said stiffly, nodding to the other man. "It must've been quite the game." She looked away, nodding. "Au revoir, Mrs. Douglas."
Olivia turned, walking back to her desk. She heard Gregory close the door behind her as she reached for the poster, tearing it half. "What's wrong?" he asked, watching as she dropped the torn pieces into her garbage can.
She turned around, leaning against the desk. "It's nothing," she sighed, unable to shake the unsettling feeling coursing through her.
"There's the most handsome fellow in Sunset Beach!"
Thomas grinned as his aunt threw her arms around him, squeezing him tight. "Just standing next to you makes me look good," he chuckled, kissing her cheek. She cupped his chin affectionately, a wide smile on her face as he stepped back. "I'm glad you could meet me."
"Well, when the busy legal intern calls and requests a lunch date, how could I refuse?" she gushed, returning to her seat and dropping the napkin in her lap. "How are things at the firm?"
He nodded, swallowing a large gulp of ice water. "Extremely busy. I'm doing a lot more than I expected, but it's all fascinating."
"So, we're still going to lose you to Oxford in a few months?"
He nodded. "Unless, I meet a stunning bathing suit model who needs me to travel the world with her and hold her towel."
She laughed, clinking her water glass against his. "Well, there's nothing wrong with having a back-up plan."
"But, seriously, Gregory's been giving me some brilliant opportunities to really dig in and learn." His eyes fell and he looked down at the starched table cloth as he said, "In a way, I'm rather grateful to Dad for making this happen."
Bette smiled, reaching across to take his hand. "My brother was not the most affectionate man, but Thomas, you must know how proud he was of you." The young man nodded as she squeezed his hand and whispered, "And, how he loved you. My goodness, the day you were born…" she trailed back, her eyes glazing at the memory. "Until then, I'd never seen him so thrilled, not even when Annie was born."
He nodded, letting the waitress interrupt to hand them menus. The red tie had burned a hole in his pocket all morning and he glanced at his aunt, having an idea of who it belonged to. He just needed her to confirm his suspicions. "Having you spoken to Mom lately?" he began casually when the waitress left.
She nodded. "Only on the phone. She's so busy now with all of that Liberty business, I can't even pin her down for a lunch."
"How does she seem to you?"
"Fine." Bette looked up, her eyes wrinkling in confusion. "Why? Did something happen?"
"No, no. It's just…I'm…Well, with Dad - and everything else - I just want to make sure she's ok."
"Oh, Thomas. You're a sweet boy. But, I think Olivia is fine. Your mother is a lot stronger than she looks."
He nodded. "Do you think she's happy?"
"Happy? What do you mean?"
"Aunt Bette," he sighed, "I know my parents didn't have a good marriage." Her eyes fell and she sighed deeply as he continued, "Tell me about the old days, when they were younger."
"Why, Thomas?"
"Were they ever happy?" he asked softly. His aunt was silent and she avoided eye contact, effectively giving him his answer. "Why were they even together?"
Bette sighed, her stomach churning as her nephew looked at her, waiting expectantly. "Oh, Thomas…I don't know you'll understand." She broke off, unable to continue as her mind raced. "That winter…"
"Mom and Dad left Sunset Beach," he prodded, leaning in. "They moved to Puerto Vallarta and got married." He watched his aunt's face turn and he sighed, wishing he could read the thoughts running through her mind. "Did you know then that it was a mistake for them to get married?"
She looked up slowly, meeting his eyes. "I think, deep down, we all knew," she said softly. He nodded, waiting for her to continue. "It was so soon after he divorced his first wife and Annie was barely a year old."
"So, why get married if everyone knew they weren't happy?"
With a sad smile, Bette shrugged. "The hell you know is better than the hell you don't?"
"I never understood that." He looked away, gazing blindly through the restaurant. "But, what I do know is that their marriage is the reason why she drinks."
"Thomas-"
"The same way," he interrupted, "I knew Dad cheated on her every chance he got."
"Oh, Thomas," she sighed, reaching up to rub her temple. The beginning of a headache throbbed and she looked up, her nephew's face strangely blank. "Their marriage-"
"It made Mom miserable." He looked up, getting to the point. "But, now, with Dad gone…she's happy." When his aunt moved to object, he shook his head. "Don't try to pretend she's not. I can see how different she is. She's not even drinking as much as she used to."
A strange thought dawned in Bette's mind and she sat up straighter, her head cocked. "Thomas, what are you say-"
"You know what I'm saying," he said softly, meeting her suddenly fearful gaze. "Dad's death was the best thing for her." She pursed her lips, her heart leaping into her throat when she heard her nephew say, "But you know that. Just like you know about her and Gregory."
Cole walked into his hotel suite, slamming the door behind him. He looked up as Annie ran in from the bedroom, her voice agitated as she asked, "Well?"
He shook his head, dropping his briefcase and giving it a swift kick. "She didn't bite."
"What?" she hissed. "At all?"
"Nope," he sighed, puffing out his cheeks. He didn't know if he was more disappointed in himself for believing that Annie's idea could work or because he was still no closer to getting the jewels. "Damnit!"
"But," she sputtered, her eyes flashing as he stalked past her, "you told her about the curse and she still said-"
"I did everything, Annie! And, Olivia said NO!"
"Selfish bitch," she muttered, folding her arms across her chest as she narrowed her eyes.
"She's stubborn," he said aloud, almost to himself. He had to admit that Olivia intrigued him, the way her eyes darkened when she refused him. It was nearly admirable.
"Too stubborn."
"Maybe…but that's going to be her weakness." He felt Annie's eyes on him as she sat next to him, her arms going around him. "She's too stubborn for her own good," he continued, resisting the urge to push her off him. "That's going to work to our advantage. We need to force her hand."
Olivia leaned up on her elbows, the silk sheet feather-light against her back. She looked over at Gregory, laying next to her with his arm flung over his eyes. Silver moonlight fell in through the sheer curtains, illuminating the room enough to see the sheen of sweat on his face. She inched next to him, grinning as her legs slipped between his.
His arm fell away and he sighed, exhaustion clouding his words as he asked, "Aren't you tired?" He opened his eyes, a tired smirk lighting up his face as she slowly shook her head. Reaching up, he cupped her face and drew her in. "Ever?" he murmured, their lips brushing together.
"Not yet," she replied in a whisper, kissing her way across his chin and down his neck. She gasped when he rolled over, pinning her beneath him. He kissed her deeply, one that seemingly consumed her as her arms went around his neck. "Are you?" she gasped, his hands slipping down her waist.
"From the long walk, you mean?"
She laughed softly, his lips dancing across her throat. It amused him that when she left Haven, it was only to move into a house five minutes away. That was how long it took for him to walk down the darkened street and slip into her home, spending the late night hours lost in her arms and bed. Every night for the last several weeks. "You could just stay home," she sighed, stretching her arms out on either side of her.
He looked up, slipping off her to lay alongside her. "You could just stop opening the door," he said softly, her arm curling around his neck as his arm settled across her stomach.
She looked over, her eyes dancing. "Shall we try that tomorrow night?"
"Why not?" he said casually, shrugging. Her eyes flashed as he combed his fingers through her hair. "I haven't had a decent night's sleep in weeks."
"Fine," she sniffed, starting to turn away. He wrapped his arms around her body, holding her snugly against him. Their chests pressed together and her toes curled as his gaze bore into her, unblinking. "Go home and sleep then," she teased, his hand pressing into her bottom.
He grinned, shaking his head as he kissed her. "Then, you'll just drive me mad in the solitude of my bedroom."
"I drive you mad?"
With a chuckle beneath his breath, he closed his eyes as her fingers walked up his arm. "In all the right ways."
Her giggle segued into a yawn as she tucked her head beneath his chin. He drew the sheets up over them, his fingers tracing a lazy design in the small of her back. The quiet swelled between them, her breathing deep and even as his mind wandered. Her body was warm against his and he sighed, believing that sleep was a possibility when he remembered the meeting that so agitated her earlier in the day. "What happened with that French man?" he asked softly. He felt her stiffen and he looked down, his fingers slowing. "Olivia?"
Her eyes opened slowly, her heart beat grinding to a stop. "What do you mean?" she murmured.
"He asked you about the jewels and about how Del got them."
She bit the corner of her lip, her stomach churning nervously. "And I told him."
He sighed. "That wasn't the truth though."
She pushed his arms away, rolling onto her back to stare up at the ceiling. "What does it matter?" She looked over, her eyes dark and strangely distant. "Del had them and now they're…"
"Yours," he replied softly when her voice trailed away. "What is this power they have over you?"
Olivia forced herself to chuckle, folding her hands over her stomach to prevent him from seeing the way they trembled. "They have no power. That's ridiculous," she insisted.
He reached out, gently turning her face to him. "Tell me the truth," he said softly. Her lips disappeared into a grim line as his fingers caressed her chin.
Her heart rose in her throat as tears stung her eyes. If only… She found herself shaking her head gently as she heard herself say, "AJ lost them to Del in a poker game." Then, she turned over, giving him her back as she hugged a pillow to her chest.
Several moments of silence inched by before she felt him move closer, pressing his chest to her back. His arm went around her, holding her close. His lips brushed her ear and she sighed, her lungs throbbing against her ribs as she swallowed. "Whatever it is," she heard him murmur, "I'll protect you."
She closed her eyes, a hot tear curling around her nose as he placed a soft kiss on the back of her neck. Her lips parted, quietly sucking air into her tortured lungs. She burrowed into the hollow of his chest and turned her face into the pillow, letting the feathers absorb her silent tears.