enveloped all of them for a second, giving Mickey the time she needed to orient herself. When she could see clearly she called to Bebe. “Chérie, over here!”
Hearing Mickey’s voice, Bebe drew in a deep breath, then loosened the heavy fur and shrugged it back the way she’d seen some of the actresses do in her father’s films. She felt a little silly as she advanced toward her aunt. Her eyes went immediately to Reuben and Daniel, then back to Reuben. Handymen? Servants of some sort? The tall one with the black hair was handsome as the devil himself. Sol would probably cut off his right arm to get him into a film. In the blink of an eye she sized up both men. The second time she blinked she decided she wanted the dark-haired one for herself. If her friends in California could see this man, they’d drop in a faint. He was just the type they all said they were going to marry someday. Hmmm, marriage? She concentrated on the tall man, willing him to meet her gaze. He didn’t seem the least bit interested in her. Well, she thought, shrugging, time would take care of that.
The younger and shorter of the two was mesmerized by her, she could tell, but the taller one had eyes only for Mickey, and there was something in his gaze she had never seen before. Something strange squeezed at her heart, and in that fleeting moment she wondered if she was making a mistake in choosing the party-girl role. It wasn’t too late to play Barbara Rosen. Look at me and smile a greeting, Bebe pleaded silently. He turned then, a smile on his lips—but it wasn’t for her, it was over something her aunt had said to him. Their eyes met, his bored and indifferent, hers challenging and determined. Excitement raced through her when he looked away. Bebe prided herself on her knowledge of young men. This one would never, ever want someone like the real Barbara Rosen. At once she made up her mind to have him. Bebe Rosen, party girl, rushed to her aunt, but not before she favored Reuben with a wicked grin. “Think about that,” she muttered under her breath.
“You’re all grown-up, chérie,” Mickey cooed against Bebe’s smooth, satiny cheek. Reuben heard the last whispered word “almost,” and smiled.
“Tante Mickey, how wonderful it is to be here. You’re as beautiful as the last time I saw you…only older,” Bebe countered in response. She glanced at Reuben. “But we’re forgetting our manners, Tante. Introduce me to these fine-looking gentlemen.”
“But of course. chérie. You Americans are so…impatient. Bebe, this Reuben Tarz, and the other smiling young man is Daniel Bishop. My houseguests. Ah, I finally see a porter. Wait here for me, chérie, I’ll return in minutes. Entertain this young lady while I’m gone,” she said to Reuben and Daniel.
Reuben’s eyes narrowed. Had the others picked up the tremor in Mickey’s voice, he wondered. Bebe Rosen was responsible for that tremor, and he himself was feeling strange, almost out of his depth. He felt a vague sense of fear. Not the kind he’d felt during the war—this was different, and so unexpected he couldn’t define it. His gut told him that some way, somehow, this girl was going to damage his relationship with Mickey. A troublemaker, he was sure of it. Anger at his own inability to be tolerant of the girl and at the sappy expression on Daniel’s face made him clench his jaw, afraid he would say something that would in some way hurt Mickey. He made up his mind then: he did not like Bebe Rosen’s bright eyes and creamy skin, he didn’t like her youthful figure and calculating smile. He did not like Bebe Rosen, period. Commenting snidely to Mickey about aging…The girl reminded him of a baby shark, all glittery eyes and sharp teeth. And Mickey had heard her, of that he had no doubt. The little snit should be put in her place, and at once, but the chances of that were almost nil. Mickey would handle things in her own sweet way, which meant Bebe would get away with her obnoxious behavior. And she’d ruin everything, bit by bit…day by day. He did his best to stifle the rage building inside him.
“From the looks of your luggage you must be planning to stay for some time,” he said coolly.
“As long as it takes,” Bebe said just as coolly.
“Takes for what?”
“Why, to get to know all of you. How long have you been…guests of my aunt? And for God’s sake let’s all talk English. My French is so rusty, everything I say comes out as ‘Pick up the pencil.’” Daniel threw back his head and laughed uproariously. Reuben grimaced.
“Well?” Bebe demanded.
“Well what?” Reuben said gruffly. It was almost impossible for him to believe that this painted doll standing before him—this mannequin in ridiculous shoes—had just turned sixteen. With some small measure of consolation he remembered Bebe wasn’t really Mickey’s niece, but a cousin. It made a difference. In France, Mickey told him, cousins, especially young ones, used the term “aunt” out of respect.
Returning to the platform with a porter, Mickey caught the flinty look in Reuben’s eyes and felt her heart soar. So, he didn’t much care for Bebe Rosen. It was difficult for Reuben to hide his emotions; it was suddenly apparent that he also had a temper, something she’d decided they needed to improve upon but not just yet. Daniel was more open, and he seemed to be enjoying a sprightly conversation with Bebe as her bags were loaded into the car.
“Bebe, you and Daniel will sit in the back and Reuben and I will be in the front. Reuben will drive.”
“Does he double as chauffeur?” Bebe asked sarcastically.
“Heck, no,” Daniel interjected. “Reuben just learned to drive, and he’s doing it for the experience. You know, the more you do something, the better you get at it.”
“Imagine that,” Bebe said quietly.
Sitting directly behind Reuben, cramped between Daniel and hatboxes. Bebe noticed Reuben’s stiff shoulders and how his head didn’t move an inch as he guided the big car down the roads. She listened to Mickey and Daniel prattle on about the château and their Christmas plans and all the things they were going to do. Every now and then she nodded or interjected a word; the rest of the time she tried to figure out who Reuben and Daniel were and how they fit into the picture. Guests could mean many things—working guests, guests on a temporary basis, and guests that did…other things.
Bebe knew she could have Daniel and maybe even her aunt eating out of her hand in a day’s time, but Reuben would probably bite that hand off and toss it back to her. She wondered why. No one had ever taken such an instant dislike to her before, Reuben made her feel that she was infringing. But on what and on whom?
The tall American was her aunt’s lover, she was sure now. Just the thought of the good-looking man in her aunt’s bed made her angry. She was so…so old, almost as old as her father, who was at least fifty. Sixteen-year-old logic questioned her aunt’s right to take a young lover.
For the first time since getting into the Citroën, Bebe looked out the window. All she saw was trees and fall desolation. Her stomach churned as the car bounced over ruts in the road. Where in the name of God did her aunt live? In America she would have called this place the boondocks,
“How much farther is it, Aunt Mickey?”
“Kilometrage? Perhaps…dix,” Mickey said.
“Please, Aunt Mickey, talk to me in English. I know only a few words of French—and before you offer to teach me, let me tell you that I really don’t want to learn. I don’t ever see myself using your language in the future.” She hadn’t meant to sound so surly, but there was no way to retract the words now.
Reuben bit down on his tongue to stop a sharp retort. The girl was after all Mickey’s guest, and it wasn’t his place to chastise her. Maybe he should simply ignore her comments and say something positive…but what? He unclamped his jaw. “You could
