“Do not pout, chéri. These things must be said now so there is no hurt to either of us later. You must understand the difference between love and lust. There is a very big difference. Someday you will love a woman so much you will want to offer her your soul. Lust is a mingling of two people for the moment. Lust is when a man or a woman walks away and never looks back. Love is when a man or a woman looks back and…smiles.”
Reuben’s mood turned sour. “Have you ever loved like that?” He hated asking the question, but he had to know.
“But of course, chéri,” Mickey lied smoothly. “But of course.”
Reuben ground his teeth together so hard he thought his jaw would crack. Angrily he climbed back into the driver’s seat and threw the roadster in gear. Mickey was jerked forward unexpectedly, forced to hang on for dear life as the car roared down the road. But she hardly noticed how fast Reuben was driving, so intent was she on the blinding tears in her eyes.
Chapter Five
The days leading up to Thanksgiving passed swiftly. The dinner hour was the end of a busy day that began at dawn. The Three Musketeers met, dined, and talked. Daniel was full of praise for Pierre Faroux and regaled Mickey and Reuben nightly with his accomplishments. Once or twice, so pleased was Pierre with his pupil’s progress, he stayed to dinner to assure Mickey that she’d made the right decision about Daniel. He was so quick, so bright! Faroux insisted his pupil had already far surpassed what Americans required for a high school diploma and was now plowing through college-level material.
Reuben beamed like a proud father when he listened to discussions on law and other matters. It was clear that Daniel was holding his own and several times bested the old Frenchman with queries he couldn’t respond to. Daniel’s thirst for knowledge was being sated at last.
If Daniel was aware of the change in Reuben and Mickey, he gave no sign. He was so caught up in his studies, he was almost oblivious to their private little exchanges. When he noticed the hand touching, the knowing smiles, the intimate glances, he was pleased for his friend.
It was a glorious time for Reuben as well as for Mickey. They were together constantly, taking care of the château, working companionably in the barn with the animals, seeing to the massive wine cellars, and always making love at any time of the day in any given place. Theirs was a robust, spontaneous relationship in which both of them reveled. Often they’d walk for hours, their hands entwined, overseeing this task or that domestic problem.
It wasn’t only Daniel who was receiving an education. In subtle ways and often in blunt, forthright words, Mickey was teaching Reuben the ways of the world. The only difference between Daniel and Reuben was that Reuben didn’t ask questions. Everything Mickey said, everything she alluded to, every nuance, every warning, was tucked away—but not before it was categorized and filed in his brain. He had the wonderful ability to stop and search his mind for a second, then come up with exactly the right answer whenever Mickey quizzed him. He’d laugh when she showed surprise. “I never forget anything.”
“Elephants are like that,” Mickey joked.
The night before Thanksgiving, Mickey presented Reuben with a book that had arrived from America. She had things to do, she said, a surprise, and he should read while she finished her preparations.
Reuben accepted her offering—the latest Zane Grey novel—with pleasure and settled himself in the library with Daniel. He showed Daniel the new book. “It’s a tale of the joining of East and West by rail.”
Daniel looked up long enough to smile, then settled back in his chair, the reading lamp aimed at the book on his lap. Reuben shook his head and smiled at his friend—his learned, literary friend. Then he, too, began to read.
In the kitchens Mickey huddled with the bevy of extra cooks she’d hired from the village. “You understand now, it must be just the way they do it in America. The turkey is to be at least thirty pounds. We have that,” she said, ticking off items on her list. “Chestnut and raisin dressing and candied yams, white potatoes that are mashed, turnips that are also mashed, vegetables fresh from the root cellar, peas, beans, and carrots. I have secured some Echiré butter, the best in the world, and you will make light fluffy dinner rolls that melt in the mouth. They must melt in the mouth because that is what Reuben hungers for. The pies are to have a flaky, delicate crust—pumpkin, mince, pecan, and one berry. Blackberry, I think. We must use canned berries from the storeroom. Do you think he will notice the difference?” she asked the cook fretfully.
“No, madame. It will be perfection.”
“Mon Dieu, I almost forgot the soup. Noodle, and there is something called a noodle pudding that Reuben likes. I have it written down here somewhere. Nanette made the noodles last night. And we must have a garden salad of some sort. You will have to forage in the cellar. If you can’t come up with something that is going to be perfectly fresh, at least make it look pretty. Americans like fresh raw vegetables.” She shrugged to show she herself couldn’t understand. “Fresh ground coffee, but don’t grind the beans until you are ready to boil the water. Tell me, did I overlook anything? Will there be enough time for you to prepare all of this for three o’clock tomorrow?”
“There is no problem, madame. It will be a feast fit for a king!”
“I’ll select the wines now. There must be flowers on the table. The best linen cloth and finest dishes and crystal.”
In the wine cellar Mickey leaned back against one of the huge barrels that hadn’t as yet been tapped. She’d gotten so much pleasure out of arranging this special dinner for Reuben and Daniel. She’d do anything, anything at all to bring a smile to Reuben’s face and that warm, intimate look to his eyes.
These past days had been so exquisite. She would no longer fool herself.
She was in love with the young American, deeply in love. And expert that she was in the ways of men, she felt he, too, was in love with her—for now. Yet she refused to listen to his pleadings and his vows of eternal love. Of course, they were words she wanted to hear, words she would remember and dream about when he was gone. Because one day, all too soon, he would return to his own land, where he belonged. Until then each day, each hour, was to be lived to the fullest.
She wondered if the arrival next week of Bebe Rosen—the daughter of her American cousin Sol Rosen—would affect her relationship with Reuben. Certainly she and Reuben would have to give up most of their private time to entertain the visitor from California. Already Mickey felt jealous. Bebe would be vivacious and pretty. If she was anything like Mickey had been at her age, she would flirt with Reuben, try to play boy-girl games with him. And what would she, Mickey, do? Stand by and eat herself up with jealousy? Perhaps she was being unfair. Bebe might be a bookworm like Daniel, or she might be shy and keep to herself…. Not likely, since she was Sol’s daughter and—from Sol’s own description—spoiled rotten. Sol had said she was a brat, a willful, spoiled young woman who pouted and finagled and manipulated till she got what she wanted. In other words, a handful.
Bebe’s skin would be smooth and flawless without the need of rouge and mascara. She’d be lithe and shapely, wearing the latest in American fashion. And she’d be able to talk to Reuben about things in America. They would have so many things in common, mainly their youth.
What would Reuben think when he saw the two women side by side, the fresh-faced girl and the middle-aged woman he was living with? Her heart thudded in her chest. If it was going to happen, let it happen now before Reuben’s hold on her became so overpowering she’d do foolish things to keep him. At the beginning of the affair
