François nodded. “It’s well known Andreas tried desperately to purchase the Wind Dancer several years ago. I even noticed a portrait of the statue in his salon. Juliette goes to the Temple to speak to the queen. Andreas leaves for Spain.” His gaze shifted to Danton’s face. “As Andreas doesn’t meddle in politics except to benefit himself, I doubt if he’s on a mission for the royalists. I’d say he’s going after the Wind Dancer.”
“And it’s a peculiar coincidence that Dupree was also sent on a mission to Andorra at virtually the same time.”
“You think Marat knows where the Wind Dancer’s to be found?”
Danton shrugged. “I wouldn’t want to take the chance of it falling into Marat’s hands. He has power and stature enough without being known as the hero who returned the Wind Dancer to the republic.”
“And?”
“Ineedthose Jacobins curbed.”
“You’re going to give Andreas what he wants.”
“Oh, there was no question about that. But I’m also going to give him something he doesn’t want” He grinned. “You.”
François gaze flew to Danton’s face. “Me?”
“I believe it’s my responsibility to keep Andreas safe on this dangerous journey. And who could better assure his safety than you? You’re not only equipped for the task by your professional talents, but you’re Basque and know the Pyrenees well.”
“You wish me to go with him?”
Danton nodded. “And, at the proper time, confiscate the Wind Dancer in the name of the republic and return it to me.”
“And you’ll reap the benefit of the bounty of prestige Marat’s seeking.”
“Certainly. Who deserves it more?”
“No one.” François gazed unseeingly out the window again. “I may be gone for months. Can you do without my services?”
“Obtaining the Wind Dancer would be worth doing without them for a decade. And I may be leaving for the front shortly anyway. Will you go?”
François was silent for a long time before he finally said, “Yes, I’ll go with Andreas.”
FIFTEEN
Vasaro!
A curving driveway fringed with lemon and lime trees and paved with stone and cork chips led up the hill to the large two-story stone manor house. Immediately behind the mansion Catherine could glimpse a stable and carriage house and several hundred yards beyond several long stone buildings. For the first time since they had left Paris she felt a tiny stirring of excitement beneath the numb bewilderment that had enveloped her on the long trip to Vasaro.
She leaned forward to look out the window of the carriage and inhaled sharply at the sheer beauty of the scene. Sloping fields surrounded the house on all sides and in those fields grew flowers of seemingly every hue and description. Blossoms of misty blue lavender, golden jasmine, creamy tuberoses, and vivid orange-scarlet geraniums waved gentlyin the breeze, and still farther away she could see other fields of flowers she couldn’t even identify.
Philippe nodded at the lush scarlet flowers they were passing. “The geraniums are ready for harvesting. They’re very rare, you know. Vasaro is the only place in France that grows them. Jean Marc’s father had them imported from Algiers as a favor to your mother.”
She glanced at him beneath her lashes and then quickly looked away.
“No,” he said quietly. “Look at me. It can’t go on, Catherine. We’ve been friends too long for you to hold me in such aversion.”
“I…don’t hold you in aversion.” She slowly turned her gaze to meet his own. Straight and golden and bronze, in his way he was as beautiful as the fields of flowers beyond the window. So beautiful. The color flew to her cheeks. “I don’t remember any of it,” she whispered. “You’d think I’d never be able to forget a place as beautiful as Vasaro, wouldn’t you? Those fields of flowers are—”
“Catherine, you’ve been avoiding speaking to me for the entire journey. Will you not let me beg your forgiveness? I know what I did was unpardonable.”
“Please, I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Then we’ll speak no more but will you let me help—show you Vasaro? It belongs to you now, but I love it too.”
All this beauty belonged to her. She gazed out of the window and felt again that stirring of excitement mixed with something else too evanescent to define.
This was her property, her land. Her mother had been the mistress of Vasaro and her mother’s mother before her. They had beheld this glory, wandered in those fields, and spent their years helping it to flourish. Now she was there to take her place in caring for the blossoms of Vasaro.
