Seduction: A Novel of Suspense (16 page)

She buried her head in his chest and her little back shook as she wept, finally letting go now that she was safe in her father’s arms.

Once Trent had checked again and was sure that the bleeding had stopped, he told the fishmonger he could take Lilly home.

Both of us watched them leave.

“Well done, Monsieur Hugo,” Trent said. “We can go now too. I’m sure you want to be getting home.”

I let Trent start up the stairs, while I lingered for a moment. What had happened? I didn’t understand. I waved my torch back over the tapestries. The group of doglike creatures were back to romping near a waterfall. I inhaled, but the scent of smoke and sweet incense was gone. I took a last look around so that I would remember this place, knowing one day I was going to want to write about what had happened. Then I turned my back on the room and began the ascent up the stairs. It went slow because I was spent and dizzy again with the effort or confusion or hunger, or all of them combined. As I climbed, my footsteps echoed in the narrow stone stairwell. That was all I heard until I reached the final tread. And then I heard a distant barking.

Was it a farewell? A warning? I had no doubt which canine creature was trying to communicate with me. It was the beautiful black dog with the topaz eyes. I just didn’t know what he was trying to say.

After Jac and Theo and his aunts had finished the main course, Claire brought out an apple tarte tatin. The perfectly browned and glazed confection scented the air with the combination of caramelized sugar and butter. Slices were served along with a dollop of thick cream on the side.

“Jersey cows,” Eva explained after Jac complimented the luxurious taste. “The butter and cream here are better than anywhere in the world.”

“Not that we’re prejudiced,” Theo teased.

Claire walked around the table and poured coffee.

“Theo told me a little about this house,” Jac said to the two sisters, “but I’d love to hear more of its history.”

Minerva looked at her sister. “Why don’t you do the honors? You don’t rush through it the way I do.”

Of the two sisters, Eva did seem like the mistress of the house. Other than making the drinks, Minerva had left everything to her. But she’d watched her make sure everyone had what they needed, fuss with the flowers on the table, smooth the tablecloth and reposition the silverware. And when she wasn’t watching Eva, Minerva was observing her nephew. It occurred to Jac that the woman was monitoring
both of them in a clinical way. Keeping tabs on them and making sure nothing was awry.

Eva began the tale. “Our ancestor, Pierre Gaspard, bought the monastery and its surrounding land in 1850. He was a jeweler, who like Tiffany in the United States, had begun working in stained glass and had aspirations to turn this place into a workshop and glass factory for lamps, windows and extravagant vases. He didn’t need much of a house. He was a childless widower who never anticipated marrying again. So he set aside a few rooms to use as living quarters and turned the rest into a showroom. He built a factory on the grounds too. All became his canvas. We have letters where he calls it his version of Ali Baba’s cave. He’d traveled extensively and was taken with the exotic story. There are even a series of windows upstairs that illuminate the famous tale.

“Everything changed though in 1855, when Victor Hugo, who was living in exile in Jersey at the time, introduced Pierre to a young Parisian woman named Fantine.”

“I didn’t realize Hugo lived in Jersey,” Jac said. “I thought he lived in Guernsey.”

“He lived here for the first three years of his exile,” Eva explained. “In St. Helier right by the sea in a house called Marine Terrace. It’s gone now, though, long ago turned into moderately priced housing.”

“Fantine was a perfumer,” Theo said to Jac.

Jac felt as if she had stepped into an irrational alternative universe where too many seemingly unconnected events connected back to one central starting point.

There are no coincidences,
Malachai always said.

“A perfumer? What was her name?”

“Well, she married Pierre, so her name was Fantine Gaspard. I don’t know her maiden name,” Eva said. “Do you, Minerva?”

“No. They were married here so there might be a record of it in the town hall. Is it important?”

“My family have been perfumers in Paris since before the French Revolution. I was just curious.”

“Oh, I should have made the connection. House of L’Etoile
perfumes? I love
Verte
,” Eva said, naming a fragrance Jac’s father had created in 1987. “Of course you’d be interested in Fantine, then. The story is she came to Jersey because of problems she’d encountered in Paris. A family crisis, or some kind of scandal. Hugo might have known her in Paris first. How they met and what their relationship was has never been quite clear. But we do know he befriended her and introduced her to Gaspard, who fell in love with her perfumes and then with her. At the end of 1855 they married. He built her a perfume workshop. They had a daughter within the year. Followed by four sons.”

Claire came into the room. “Would you like me to make more coffee?” she asked.

When no one said they wanted any, Eva thanked Claire and then suggested they move back into the great room for after-dinner drinks.

A fire was blazing in the hearth, illuminating brilliant iridescent turquoise, sea-green and lilac tiles framing the fireplace. They were the same colors as the threads in Eva’s weaving.

“Are those tiles Pierre Gaspard’s work?” Jac asked.

“All the tile work and windows in the house are, yes,” Minerva said. “My mother once told me that those were Fantine’s favorite colors.”

All the L’Etoile’s signage included those three colors and had since the inception of the firm. Jac had seen the antique blue, green and lavender boxes and bills in the archives. She hadn’t noted the color scheme before. But the turquoise, aqua and lavender were repeated and echoed in the heavy velvet and raw silk upholstery, rugs and chandeliers. It didn’t seem possible that Fantine could have been a L’Etoile before she married. But Jac would have to call Robbie later and ask him to investigate.

Theo asked if anyone wanted any brandy and then poured glasses for himself, Jac and Minerva. Eva declined.

“What happened to Fantine and Pierre?” Jac asked.

“They prospered,” Eva said. “Pierre’s stained glass and jewelry were much sought after. Two of his lamps are in the decorative galleries of the Louvre,” she said. “But for the women in our family, Fantine was the hero. She was quite unconventional for her time. Few women then had vocations out of the theater arts. But despite managing her duties
as a wife and mother, she created and sold perfumes. She and Hugo remained friends too. He even gave her some drawings. They’re all hanging here and there at the house.”

“He wrote her often after he moved to Guernsey and continued to stay in touch once he returned to Paris. We have some of those letters,” Theo said.

Jac noticed that at the mention of the letters, Minerva frowned and Eva started to play with a red braided thread tied around her wrist.

“Wasn’t the name of the prostitute in Hugo’s
Les Misérables
Fantine? The woman whose child Jean Valjean takes care of?” Jac asked.

“Yes,” Minerva said. “One and the same. Named for our ancestor.”

“They were very close,” Theo said. “Hugo introduced Fantine to spiritualism.”

Eva turned her head sharply toward her nephew. “We don’t have to go into all that.”

Minerva smiled at her sister reassuringly. “Relax, darling, talking about it really isn’t going to do any harm. We’ve been through this.” She turned to Jac. “Yes, Hugo was involved in spiritualism.”

“I had no idea,” Jac said.

“Yes, his politics overshadowed some of his more esoteric leanings, but he was extremely involved. He had more than a hundred séances at his house while he lived in Jersey. Pierre Gaspard was a frequent guest at many of them.”

“Hugo kept records of all the sessions,” Theo said.

“We have a book of transcripts,” Minerva added and nodded toward the hallway. “It’s in the library if you’re interested.”

Eva was playing with the red braided thread again. Turning it half a rotation to the right, then bringing it back to the center. Then turning it to the left.

“Jersey is a very spiritual place,” Eva said, as if this were medicine she needed to take. “Some say even magical. Of course Hugo would be affected while he lived here. Everyone is. We have hundreds of Neolithic monuments. Wells and sacred springs every few hundred yards. There’s one behind the house. Druids were said to have bathed there. I think that’s why there are so many churches on the island.
Paganism is in the soil here even though the church kept on building to try and tamp it down.”

“I’d like to hear more about the séances,” Jac said.

“Have you ever been to one, Jac?” Minerva asked.

“No.”

Minerva stood up and walked over to the corner of the room where the easel rested. Behind it was an elaborately carved wooden credenza inlaid with more of the turquoise, purple and sea-green tiles that framed the fireplace.

Minerva opened one of the drawers.

“What are you doing?” Eva’s voice was tight and high-pitched.

“I just thought I’d show Jac some family history. I think she’d be interested.”

“I don’t think you should,” Eva said.

On the opposite side of the room, one of the glass doors blew open. Jac felt the cool wind brush past her.

“See!” Eva exclaimed. No longer just apprehensive, she sounded unafraid.

Theo got up quickly, strode over to the door, closed it and locked it. “It’s nothing, Aunt Eva.”

“That never happens,” Eva said. “Why would it have happened at just that second?”

“Of course it’s happened,” Minerva said. “It happens all the time.”

“No. It’s because of you. What you’re doing. I don’t want you to,” Eva said to her sister. “I’ve asked you before.”

Jac was uncomfortable. Whatever was going on between the sisters wasn’t any of her business. Putting down her glass, she turned to Theo.

“It’s been a long day and a lovely night but I think I should go back. Do you think you could call a taxi for me? Mrs. O’Neil said there’d be no problem getting one to pick me up.”

“I’ll drive you back,” Theo said.

“No need to go to that much trouble.”

“No trouble.”

But there was trouble. It had settled over the house and crouched in the corners.

Theo was taking the turns in the road too fast, Jac thought. Fog had settled over the island again and his headlights illuminated only a few dozen yards ahead. The ride seemed as if it might go on forever. The woods she remembered being on either side of them were now invisible. No cars passed. They could have been going anywhere. Or nowhere.

“Why didn’t you tell your aunts why you’d invited me here?” she asked.

“We may not find anything, so I didn’t want to get them excited.”

“Good excited or bad excited?”

“Good excited,” he said, but she wasn’t sure he was telling her the truth.

“Really? Your aunt Eva seemed worried when you mentioned the letters.”

He accelerated as he took the next bend. When he answered, his words were measured. “Eva is nervous about her own shadow. She doesn’t like upheaval. Status quo is her heaven. She hates the idea of me picking up where my grandfather stopped.”

“Your grandfather?”

“He was looking for the same treasure I’m looking for. That’s how
I found the letter. It was in a book with his belongings after he died.”

“How did he die?”

“He fell out on the rocks and broke his hip, then got pneumonia.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Eleven months.”

“How horrible. You lost both your grandfather and your wife in the last year?”

He nodded. “I appreciate your concern, but can we move on?”

Jac sensed his pain and felt awful for him, but he clearly didn’t want to dwell on his grief. She could understand that. So she returned to what was confusing her about his aunt’s reactions to his quest.

“Minerva hardly seems the kind of person who’d be nervous about anything. I’d imagine she’d relish the idea of the search as well as the potential find.” She was thinking back to the ferry ride when Minerva had told Jac they were both seekers.

“Yes, she would. And you’re right about her, she’s not the nervous type at all.”

“Well then?”

“It’s me. She’s concerned about me.”

“Can you tell me why?”

He drove on without answering. Was he concentrating on the road? Considering her request? Composing a response?

“She thinks I’ve been too preoccupied with my wife’s death.”

“How does that have—”

He cut her off. “I haven’t really been able to work through the mourning process. Minerva thinks it’s premature for me to take on this project.”

“I’m not sure I understand how one could have to do with the other.”

“You need to read the letter. It’s at the house in the safe.” Theo drove on for another moment in silence. “I’ll bring you back tomorrow when both of them are working. And then we can talk about how to proceed. I really don’t know how to go about doing this without an expert.”

“Despite your aunts’ concerns?”

“I asked you here, didn’t I? I think this could be as important a find for you as it is for me. And not despite their concerns, but because of them.”

“You’re right. I don’t understand.”

“You will.”

Up ahead was a glimmer of light coming from the hotel. The atmosphere in the car lifted now that there was something besides fog outside the windows.

“Do you understand how you got to this point in your life, Jac?” Theo’s question was so serious it caught her off guard.

“I haven’t ever thought about it.”

“We get to any given point via the choices we make. Even those that seem insignificant have far-reaching implications. Do you think you’ve made all the right choices?”

She thought about the question. “No, of course not. I’m sure I haven’t.”

“Do you understand why you’ve made them?”