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“Monsieur.”
Armand heard Tarasai call from behind him, but he did not turn to her.
“Monsieur, I go to the village only for a short time and you flee the house. You are like a child I cannot leave alone.” She came to his side on the dock and draped a coat over his shoulders, the wind whipping at the tiny plaits of hair that fell around her face. She tucked her hair behind a delicate ear. “Armand, do you listen to me? You should be in bed,” she said softly, and then she kissed him lightly.
He drew the coat closer, shivering inside as he continued to watch the dark waves crashing onto the dock. He had been here in this spot for more than an hour, and despite the warmth of the season, his feet felt like ice and he was light-headed, but he could not tear himself from the sight of the churning sea. “The water is rough, Tarasai, don’t you think? Very rough for this time of year.”
“A summer storm,” she said gazing at the sea for a moment, then dismissing it as she slipped her arm through his. “Armand, mon chèr, you must listen to the docteur if you are to get better.”
He sighed, feeling worn to the bone. Defeated. “Tarasai,” he said gently, turning his head to look into her liquid-dark eyes. “We both know, you and I, that I will not get better.”
“Non.” She gripped his arm tighter, then drew her other hand over her barely rounded belly. “The medicine the docteur gives you, it is making you stronger. Stronger for l’enfant.”
“It’s not making me stronger,” he whispered sadly. “This illness, it’s eating me up inside.”
“But, mon—”
He pressed his finger to her sweet lips, silencing her. “Tarasai, I am getting weaker. Look at me. I cannot even walk my jungle paths any longer. I must have men to carry me.” He pointed to the two teenage village boys who stood back discreetly and waited to be summoned to take Armand back to the house in the sedan chair he had had built from one of his grandmother’s old dining room chairs.
“Non, non,” she repeated, closing her eyes and rubbing her face against his arm, breathing in his scent.
“Shh,” he soothed. “It is not so bad, really. I’m much older than you. I’ve led a good, full life.” He kissed the top of her head, her hair braided in black plaits. Then he stared out at the rough sea again. “I only wish it did not take so long to hear from England. I sent the funds weeks ago, the moment I heard from Lucia and the girls, but I have heard nothing since.”
“They are fine, your chères filles,” she assured him.
“I keep telling myself that.” He watched a wave break at the dock’s pilings and water splash and wash toward him. “And yet I have this feeling about Sapphire that I cannot shake.” He drew his free hand into a fist. “I sense…I don’t know. Unrest. Fear.” He looked into her eyes. “I know it sounds foolish, but I’m afraid she has gotten herself into trouble and she needs me.”
“It does sound idiotic, coming from a man like you. A learned man,” she said, smiling up at him. “So enough sottise.” She tugged on his arm. “Come, let us take you home and put you to bed.”
“You’re right. I know you are. But I could do this, you know. Give in, die peacefully, if I just knew she was safe.”
“No more talk of mort!” Tarasai wrapped a small arm around Armand and led him off the dock, making a sign with her hand she often made to ward off evil spirits. “Come to bed, Armand, mon chèr, and I will join you.”
“You never come to bed in the middle of the day.”
“For you, mon amour, I will. Just until you fall asleep.”
“That would be nice,” he said, suddenly so overcome with weakness that he could barely walk. Taking one last look over his shoulder at the raging sea, he pushed his worried thoughts of Sapphire away and allowed himself to yield to Tarasai.
The moment Lucia heard the knock at the door, she was on her feet. “Avena,” she ordered, waving her hand.
Avena hurried to the door. “Mr. Stowe, welcome,” she said in carefully pronounced English as she extended her hand. “Please come in.”
“Have you heard anything?” Lucia asked, rushing toward Jessup.
He opened his arms to her, breaking into a grin. “I have. There was a message there waiting at my office when I arrived this morning.” He kissed Lucia’s forehead. “I cancelled my first appointment and came straight over.”
“Where is she?” Lucia clasped both his pudgy hands in hers, thinking to herself what a treasure this roly-poly man was. “Is she safe? When can I see her?”
“She is safe.” He nodded and then turned to Avena. “Some tea, please.”
Avena bobbed a curtsy and disappeared into the kitchen.
“She’s fine,” Jessup continued, “but apparently young Lord Thomas was not entirely forthright in his conversation with me the other night.” He led Lucia to the settee and helped her sit before taking his place beside her, holding her hands.
“Whatever do you mean?” Lucia said, beginning to lose patience with him. “If that young man has harmed a hair on my Sapphire’s head, I swear—”
“Now, now,” Jessup soothed. “Don’t get your feathers all ruffled.”
