Sins of Omission. Fern Michaels

all over. It would take days to sort through everything and place it in the armoires. She really doubted the furnishings would hold all her belongings, and she’d die before she’d ask the others for extra drawers or closet space. She’d had enough humiliation today to last the rest of her life.

      This was a fend-for-yourself operation. There would be no one to pick up after her, no one for her to order about. If she wanted something, she’d damn well get it herself or learn to do without. Wait till her friends in California found out she was forced to clean the bathtub! Of course, the only way they would ever know was if she told them.

      She was so hungry she felt like she could eat a horse, hooves and all. She looked wildly for something to wear. Helter-skelter, the clothing flew as she searched out her underwear and stockings. She pulled and tugged until she found a wrinkled yellow dress with a high neckline. It looked demure and virginal with its little lace collar and cuffs. She searched through the pile of clothing until she found a pair of shoes with a sensible pair of heels. “Clod!” she muttered.

      Bebe stared at her damp hair. The curling ringlets would never dry. The best she could do was fluff it out with her fingers and hope it didn’t mat, making her head look like a ball with fuzz on it. It would take her hours, maybe even days, to find the makeup case that held her perfume and powder. She’d go to dinner with a shiny, well-scrubbed face. She’d keep quiet and speak only when spoken to. And the first time the chance presented itself, she’d kick Reuben square in the groin. The thought lightened her mood considerably. She tripped into the library, where Mickey was pouring wine into four glasses.

      It was a pleasant enough evening, and by ten o’clock Mickey was ready to call a halt to the long day. “Come along, Bebe, we will go upstairs together. I know you must be exhausted from your travels. I can assure you a wonderful night’s sleep on my goose down bed. Tomorrow you will feel refreshed, and possibly, if I am right, you will go for a walk in the snow with me. We have so much to talk about.” Bebe followed her obediently.

      Mickey put her arm around the young girl’s fragile shoulder and was stunned to feel it trembling beneath her touch. With an unexpected surge of suppressed motherhood, she led the girl to her room, helped her undress, and then loaned her a nightgown rather than have her paw through the stack of clothing in the center of the floor.

      “Would you care for some hot chocolate, chérie? It will be no trouble for me to go down and get it.”

      “No, Aunt Mickey. I’m fine. And I—I’m sorry about the way I behaved. I have no excuse,” Bebe blurted out.

      “It is of no importance. I was young once, too, believe it or not. Perhaps in a few days you will feel more kindly toward Reuben and apologize to him. But only if you want to.”

      “He hates me!” Bebe cried, sensing there was sympathy to be earned.

      “No, chérie, he does not hate you. He does not like the way you behaved. You are one of his countrymen, and he took your behavior personally. You will make amends, I am sure of it.”

      “You said my mother liked it here at the château and didn’t want to leave. What was she like, Aunt Mickey? I never knew her, and Papa doesn’t like to talk about her.”

      “She was very beautiful. Not just on the outside, but on the inside as well. She was a gentle, giving, caring woman, and she made your papa very happy. When she was pregnant with you, she said she knew it would be a girl. She had such wonderful plans for the two of you. She said she’d never give you up to a nanny but would take care of you herself. Your father was devastated at her death. Your brother should have been brought here to me. I offered to take him, at least for a while. You, too. But your father said he didn’t want to rip the family apart. I know he tried his best with you and Eli, and I also know he was far too indulgent because he loves you so much. I understand Eli is constantly in trouble, but that will change when he discovers who he is and what he wants to do with his life. Someday Eli will be a wonderful painter. You, Miss Bebe, leave much to be desired at the moment. I’m here to help you, but only if you want my help.”

      “Someday I’ll be just like you, Aunt Mickey,” Bebe said sleepily. “Maybe then someone will love me.”

      Mickey had to strain to hear the last words. Tears pricked at her eyelids, and her heart went out to the sleeping girl. “Poor lost lamb,” she whispered as she brushed wisps of golden hair from the smooth forehead. “I tortured myself for weeks about you. I thought that Reuben would certainly be attracted to you, that he would compare us. My instincts were right, little one. There is something about you that Reuben finds…I don’t quite know what it is, but it is something I feel. You and I are like night and day to him. One of us is a woman, an older woman, and the other is a young girl on the brink of womanhood. I love this young man more than I have ever loved a man, and I know in my heart that I am going to lose him in some way to you. If you were worthy of him, I could…I could accept it and let him go, because true love is wanting the other person’s happiness more than your own. And you, little Bebe, want Reuben, I saw it in your eyes. Against my better judgment I have allowed him to consume my life. I cannot share him with you. Whatever I have I will willingly share, but not Reuben. Not now.” There was sorrow in her voice when she whispered her final good-night. “If you take him from me, then he’s not worth having, but don’t expect me to give him to you.”

      At the door she turned for a last look at the girl cuddled in bed. “You couldn’t possibly love him as I do. I wish you had never come here,” she murmured. Then she closed the door softly behind her, her eyes bright with tears.

      Bebe scrunched her face into the downy pillow and laughed gleefully. When sleep finally reached out to her, there was a smile on her face. Playing at falling asleep had been one of the first things in her acting repertoire. Reuben Tarz was as good as hers.

      It was hours later, past midnight, when Reuben slipped into Mickey’s warm bed. He drew her to him and whispered, “It’s snowing outside.” Mickey smiled as she returned to sleep, this time in Reuben’s arms.

      Chapter Nine

      The comfortable room was oppressive with the roaring fire. Reuben was feeling lethargic and useless; the vineyards were at rest for the season. After some initially trying days, Daniel and Bebe were settled into a routine of lessons, with Faroux just as easily teaching two bright students as one. Mickey spent long hours going over her financial records and keeping wine charts. Reuben read every book in the crowded library that dealt with winemaking. He’d asked thousands of questions and was surprised at Mickey’s expertise. While she didn’t actively operate the wineries, she knew to the day and hour what went on. It was time now for him to ask her if he could take over some of the responsibility, have a more active role in running the business.

      When Mickey lifted her head from the ledgers in front of her, Reuben smiled at her and mouthed the words, “You are so beautiful.” Mickey returned his smile with a roguish wink.

      Reuben closed his book. “Mickey, have you given any thought to my suggestions of last evening?”

      “Yes, considerable thought. I’m not sure…what if…I don’t think my wines are—”

      “No doubts,” Reuben said coolly. “You have first-quality wines. It’s time to share them with the rest of the world. Once in a while you have to take chances. Remember what you said about the young woman who designs your clothes? Your instincts told you she was going to be famous someday. A feeling, that’s all you had to go on, and you went with that feeling. I feel the same way about the wines…it’s time. You have to strike while the iron is hot, Mickey. If you don’t, someone else will get the jump on you. I want us to jump in with both feet. The only thing we can lose is some of our time and a few cases of wine.”

      “What if the foreigners don’t like our wines?” Mickey asked, frowning.

      “The Fonsard wineries and their product are the finest in all Europe. When you have the best, there is nothing to dislike. Talk to your bankers in Paris. If they agree that it’s a sound move, will you give the go-ahead?”

      “Yes. Yes,