The House of Dreams

The House of Dreams by Kate Lord Brown Page B

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Authors: Kate Lord Brown
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one big fireplace, so many people had fitted charcoal burners to their vehicles now there was little gasoline. She dabbed at her nose, clicked the compact shut, and slipped it into her handbag.
    â€œBoy, what a swell day for a trip to the countryside,” Miriam said. There was a fresh breeze from the sea, teasing gold leaves from the trees. The Cimetière Saint-Pierre passed by, and the tram headed for the hills.
    â€œIt’s just good to get out of that place.”
    â€œYou’re not still smarting about Varian, are you?”
    â€œVarian? I couldn’t give a damn about him.” Mary Jayne snapped her bag closed, and her husky voice lowered to a growl. “You’d think after I managed to spring those four guys from the Vernet camp he’d treat me with a little respect by now.” She bit her lip. I know men like him, she thought. I bet he reinvented himself at Harvard, started eating burgers with a knife and fork and took up smoking just because it looked elegant. To hell with him. Stuck-up dilettante, that’s what he thinks I am. Spoiled little rich girl.
    â€œI’m sure he does respect you, he just doesn’t show it. I know some of the refugees think he’s buttoned up, but it’s just a front to give them confidence—”
    â€œJeez, Miriam. Respect? Don’t you get it? Men like him don’t know what to do with a woman if you’re not in their bed, typing their letters, or keeping their house. The ARC is an all boys’ club. I said as much to his face the other night.”
    â€œOh, Mary Jayne, you didn’t?”
    â€œWell, why not? They think they are being so clever hiding what they are up to from the girls, but we all know they are doing something crooked.”
    â€œI think he’s rather wonderful. Don’t you think he’s attractive?”
    Mary Jayne laughed briskly through her nose. “Not at all, my dear. I prefer more macho types.”
    â€œLike Killer?”
    â€œRaymond is … He’s not what he seems.”
    â€œWell, neither are you,” Miriam said. “You succeeded where letters from the ERC and the American consulate failed. You still haven’t told me exactly how you persuaded the commandant to let those four prisoners out of Vernet.”
    â€œA lady never tells.” A smile twitched at the corners of Mary Jayne’s mouth. “As Beamish said, I have the most innocent face in the world, and let’s just say the commandant wasn’t immune to my feminine charms.” I felt more like the Trojan horse than Helen. Mary Jayne had been their last chance. Emergency U.S. visas had been issued for four of the political prisoners in greatest danger, but all diplomatic requests to bring the men to Marseille under guard to collect them had been refused. Mary Jayne had dressed carefully in her best blue suit with yellow piping and all her grandmother’s diamonds. When she’d looked at the reflection in her hotel room mirror, she’d thought, Good, I look exactly how they want me to look—like a pretty, rich American girl . She remembered how, when the commandant offered her a cigarette, Chanel No. 5 wafted from the cuff of her blouse as she leaned in to the flame cupped in his palm. “God, I was glad to get out of that place. They’ve got the whole camp penned up behind two barbed-wire fences, and the guards are told to shoot to kill.” She looked down at her hand and twisted the ring on her finger. She could hardly bear to remember the sight of the shaven-headed men, their emaciated faces. They smiled at me the way poor kids light up at the sight of a Christmas tree.
    â€œI hate it,” she said, “it’s inhumane seeing people penned up like that. Everyone knows the Gestapo are just going around cherry-picking whoever they want. The Vichy lot are just doing their dirty work for them.”
    Miriam squeezed her hand. “What you did was very

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