Page 91 of Mrs. Endicott's Splendid Adventure
Ellie hesitated. “Look, Nico,” she said. “I have other people in the house I can’t put in harm’s way. I have to know if you are doing something illegal—something that could get us all into trouble.”
He stared at her. “Yes,” he said. “I suppose I am, in a way. And you are right. I should not put you in harm’s way. I’ll stay here now, but ...”
She took a deep breath. “I’ve wanted to ask this question for ages. Nico, are you a smuggler? Are you bringing in black market goods?”
She was surprised that he smiled then. “I have been known, at times, to import an occasional bottle of wine or spirit without paying the taxes,” he said, “but the answer is no. But it is dangerous. I will be taking messages. I may be bringing items up to store in the shed ... items that could be useful, like guns.”
Suddenly she understood. “You’re helping the Resistance?”
“The less you know, the better,” he said. “If you see me at night, crossing the garden, then pull the blinds and look away. Then if you are questioned, you can genuinely say that you know nothing.”
“Nico—” She reached out and touched his arm. “Please be careful.”
“You sound concerned,” he said. “I’m touched. I thought you despised me.”
“Of course I’m concerned,” she said. “And I never despised you.”
“To start with you did. I saw your expression when you caught me crossing the garden that night.” He laughed.
“I thought you were up to no good. Hiding stolen goods in someone else’s shed.”
He put hands on both her shoulders. “My dear Ellie, I am going to tell you something that is strictly between us, and only because I might not make it out of this war alive. But I want you to know the truth about me ... I was born in this house. In the room where you are now sleeping.”
She stared at him, trying to digest this. She saw the twinkle in his eyes. “You’re joking,” she said.
He shook his head. “Not this time. My mother was Jeannette Hétreau.”
“The opera singer? Your mother was the opera singer?” She fought not to raise her voice. “But that’s ridiculous. I’ve met your mother, a sweet little old lady called Madame Barbou.”
“My adoptive mother,” he said. “When Jeannette became pregnant, Marcel, the very rich duke, decided he couldn’t allow a baby. His wife was the jealous sort and would make a fuss in Paris society. He insisted Jeannette find a good home for it, like a puppy, if she still wanted to be his mistress. Of course she liked the perks of the job, so to speak, so she obeyed. She found a childless couple in the village, and they agreed to say it was the child of a cousin who had died in childbirth.”
“I saw your photograph,” Ellie blurted out. “It was in Jeannette’s drawer, hidden amongst her underclothes. A beautiful baby. I often wondered ...”
“It’s more than I’ve ever seen,” he said. “I don’t remember her at all.”
“You never met your mother?”
He gave a little sigh. “Apparently she did come to see me a few times when I was very young. But then the relationship with my father came to an end, and she never returned to the villa.”
“She just walked away. Abandoned you?”
“She preferred money and fame, I suppose. And she wasn’t the motherly type. Oh, she did provide for me financially. Paid for me to go to a good school and then to the Sorbonne. But she never wanted to meet me.”
“But then she died and left you this villa?”
He nodded. “The villa and a good amount of money. That’s why I don’t need to work hard, which is nice.”
“Why didn’t you take over the villa?”
“Two reasons. Because the truth would come out and it would upset my mother, the woman who raised me, and second because Jeannette never wanted me in her lifetime. I bore a grudge against her and wanted nothing to do with her. Let the villa crumble into dust.”
She examined his face. “So you’re really the son of a duke,” she said. “That’s why there was always something different about you. Did you never try to contact him?”
Nico shook his head. “Once,” he said. “I was in Paris at the Sorbonne, and I had the absurd notion that I should present myself tomy true father. I was sure he would acknowledge me, welcome me with open arms and afford me all the privileges of a duke’s son. I found his house in the eighth arrondissement, near the Seine, and I was getting up courage to approach the front door when it opened and he came out. He stalked past me as if were a speck of dust on the pavement, shouted some command to his chauffeur, got in and drove away. That look of absolute arrogance. I decided he would not want to know me.”
“I’m sorry, Nico. It must have been hard for you.”
“On the contrary. I grew up in a loving home. My father taught me everything about fishing. I went out with him on the boat. Much better than being raised by servants or dragged around by an opera singer.”
