La Fleur Rouge The Red Flower Read online




  La Fleur Rouge

  The Red Flower

  The First Novel

  of The Stuart Trilogy

  BY RUTHE OGILVIE

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  © Copyright 2012 Ruthe Ogilvie.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

  ISBN: 978-1-4269-7465-6 (sc)

  ISBN: 978-1-4269-7466-3 (hc)

  ISBN: 978-1-4269-7504-2 (e)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2011911225

  Trafford rev. 05/04/2012

  www.trafford.com

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  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER I

  CHAPTER II

  CHAPTER III

  CHAPTER IV

  CHAPTER V

  CHAPTER VI

  CHAPTER VII

  CHAPTER VIII

  CHAPTER IX

  CHAPTER X

  CHAPTER XI

  CHAPTER XII

  CHAPTER XIII

  CHAPTER XIV

  CHAPTER XV

  CHAPTER XVI

  CHAPTER XVII

  CHAPTER XVIII

  CHAPTER XIX

  CHAPTER XX

  CHAPTER XXI

  CHAPTER XXII

  CHAPTER XXIII

  CHAPTER XXIV

  CHAPTER XXV

  CHAPTER XXVI

  CHAPTER XXVII

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  CHAPTER XXIX

  CHAPTER XXX

  CHAPTER XXXI

  CHAPTER XXXII

  CHAPTER XXXIII

  CHAPTER XXXIV

  CHAPTER XXXV

  CHAPTER XXXVI

  CHAPTER XXXVII

  CHAPTER XXXVIII

  CHAPTER XXXIX

  CHAPTER XL

  CHAPTER XLI

  CHAPTER XLII

  CHAPTER XLIII

  CHAPTER XLIV

  CHAPTER XLV

  CHAPTER XLVI

  The Stuart Trilogy is dedicated to a chosen few; those whose inspiration, dedication, and talent combined to encourage the finished works to flow forth from my pen or keyboard. To my husband, Frank (Bud) Ogilvie, who continually supported me through the long, arduous process; to my twin sister, Rubye Macdonald, the encourager who urged me to start writing in the beginning; to Kevin Thompson, whose business acumen and friendship guided me through publisher duress; to Linda Cruz, sounding board and organizer extraordinaire; and to Doug Warner, friend, computer expert and fixer of the word processing messes that I too often created (although I always blamed the computer).

  CHAPTER I

  Hildy Swenson (nee Hilary Simone) drove along the Hollywood Freeway in her silver-blue, Jaguar convertible. Her dark, brunette wig which hid her natural, long blond hair was blowing in defiance. She fought back the tears that welled up in her soft, brown eyes, blinking to prevent fogging up the dark, horn-rimmed glasses she had recently bought to complete her disguise. Why did this happen to me? she asked herself repeatedly. Will I ever escape from Gregory Wilcox’s threats?

  She thought back to the day when in desperation she had called her dear school chum, Jennifer Gordon, and told her she was moving from Arizona as soon as she could pack her things.

  She had been writing, acting, and composing songs for a children’s show on a local TV station and had been quite successful, until one day the manager had called her into his office and, with no explanation, fired her. Her landlord evicted her from her apartment the same day.

  Jenny, a beautiful, young black woman who was Hilary’s best friend, had experienced similar problems, although for different reasons, and Hilary knew she could trust her and listen to her advice. Jenny was the only friend she had confided in about the reason she had left Boston in such a hurry two years ago.

  “Jenny,” she sobbed, “it’s happening again. I’ve got to find a new location.”

  “Hilary, come and stay with me in California. I have plenty of room, and I’d love the company now that Ken and I are divorced.”

  “Thanks, Jenny,” Hilary said, relieved. “There’s just one thing. You may not know me when you see me. I’m wearing a dark wig and horn-rimmed glasses. And I’ve changed my name to Hildy Swenson.”

  There was a moment’s silence on the other end. “What a great idea!” Jenny exclaimed. “How did you come up with the name?”

  “Hildy is a childhood nickname, and Swenson is my middle name. Greg will never be looking for me under that name. What do you think?”

  “Oh, Gregory Wilcox will never find you,” Jenny agreed. “I’m glad you finally realized he meant all those terrible threats. Don’t worry - it’s Hildy Swenson from now on.”

  And it had, indeed, been Hildy Swenson, to Jenny and everyone else she had met since then. No one would ever find out from her or from Jenny why she had fled from Boston. Not till the time was right.

  She shuddered as she recalled that awful night two years ago when all her idealistic dreams had so abruptly come to an end.

  It seemed so long ago, almost like a dream.

  But what had followed was a living nightmare.

  CHAPTER II

  TWO YEARS EARLIER - 1954

  It was a beautiful fall day in Boston. The kind of day every Easterner delights in. Sunny and warm, but without that awful humidity, with moisture so heavy and wet you could almost drink it. The air was crisp and crackling, bright and new.

  Hilary sat in the window seat of her Queensbury Street apartment in Back Bay, her long, blond hair cascading over her shoulders. With a look of rapture she watched her brand new fiance walk down the street toward his car.

  It was Hilary’s twenty-third birthday, and he had just given her a beautiful three carat diamond that graced the third finger of her left hand, and sparkled as brilliantly as the first star just poking its head through the early evening sky.

  What a wonderful, handsome man I just got engaged to, she marveled. Gregory Wilcox, of the much respected, old Wilcox family of Beacon Hill. He was also the top composer and lyricist of musicals in the country.

  She hugged her knees to her chin and sighed a big, satisfied sigh. How he must love me to give me this beautiful ring! He was everything she had ever dreamed of. Kind, honest, tall and strong, yet gentle. And oh, so attractive!

  Hilary was of medium height, with the slender, delicate figure of a dancer, and the face of an angel. She had that unusual combination of blond hair inherited from her Norwegian mother, and soft, brown eyes which came from her father’s French background.

  With stars in her eyes, she could just imagine what a perfect marriage she and Greg would have. Finally her dreams were coming true. Not only am I in love with the guy, but he can help me a lot with contacts for my writing and composing. What more could I ask for?

  Hilary had been composing music since she was five years old, having inherited her unique talent from her mother, a brilliant concert pianist, who taught her daughter at an early age to read music and play the piano. Although Hilary was only twe
nty-three, she had become a gifted composer.

  Greg had told her many times how much he admired her talent, and promised to help her break into the business. But she never dreamed that night only a month ago when she went to see him about a musical she had written six months before, entitled “The Ginger Jar,” that he would fall in love with her, although for her it had been a case of love at first sight.

  Yes, everything looked rosy. She watched him as he reached his car and waved to her, his brown, wavy hair blowing softly in the gentle breeze.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later Greg drove into the yard of his town house, parked his Rolls Royce in the underground garage, picked up his briefcase, and made his way to the first floor and into the den.

  As he sat down at his desk he thought of the beautiful, large diamond he had just given Hilary. It had cost a lot, but it was well worth it. It was little enough to pay, he figured, for what he would be getting out of it.

  He knew Hilary would say yes to his marriage proposal. He had bought the ring days ago in anticipation of this, and was confident he’d be taking no chance bringing it along with him this evening. After all, where could she meet another man as good a catch as he?

  What a team we’ll make! he mused. As long as she’s at my side I’ll have all the material I’ll need for my new musicals. With her writing talent and my contacts there’s no end to the awards I’ll get! Hilary is just what the idea doctor ordered! Yes, he decided, she would be a great asset to him, and he moved in quickly to claim his prize. Greg always got what he wanted, no matter what means he had to use to get it.

  He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirrored wall and gave his image a triumphant salute as he opened his briefcase and took out a thick manuscript.

  * * *

  Back in her apartment, Hilary was preparing for an appointment with one of Broadway’s top producers, Jay Stuart, who was visiting in Boston for a few days. She planned to show him her musical. It hadn’t been easy to get the appointment, but when she mentioned to his secretary that she was a friend of Greg’s that had paved the way.

  She was puzzled that so far Greg had done nothing to help her make contacts, as he had promised, so she decided to make one of her own. Won’t he be surprised if I succeed? I’m sure he’ll be delighted.

  Did she imagine it, or did Greg seem a little upset when she mentioned it on the phone earlier that day? She planned to tell him later if, hopefully, Jay liked it, but the excitement of it had been too much for her, and it had come tumbling from her lips before she could stop it.

  Greg had seemed extremely anxious to take another look at it. Unusually so, she felt. Then she smiled. No, he just wants to double check to make sure it’s presentable before Jay Stuart sees it, she reasoned. What a dear man!

  As she prepared to retire for the night she decided to get the script and music out ready to pick up first thing tomorrow. But when she looked in her files, it was gone.

  A feeling of near panic swept over her. Where could it be? Then she remembered Greg’s desire to help her. He had asked to see the script before he left, but she assumed he had put it back in her files. Could he have taken it?

  She picked up the phone and dialed his number, feeling somewhat reluctant to question him for fear he might think she didn’t trust him. I’ll bet he forgot about my appointment.

  There was a busy signal on the other end. Who would he be talking to at this hour? It’s almost midnight.

  After several tries, it rang and he answered.

  “Hi!” Hilary greeted him. “I’ve been trying to get you.” She hesitated. “Where did you put my script? I just looked in my files, and - uh - it seems to be missing. I need it for my appointment tomorrow.”

  There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then Greg chuckled. “I took it,” he said. “I wanted it to be a surprise, and I’m afraid you spoiled it.”

  “Oh, Greg, I’m sorry!” Hilary felt remorseful, and a little guilty that she had questioned him for even a moment.

  “I’m having breakfast tomorrow morning with Jay Stuart,” Greg continued. “He’s the producer I’ve worked with for so many years. You’ll stand a much better chance if I present it to him for you. If he likes it, you’ll have your foot in the door. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

  Hilary was at a loss for words. How did I get so lucky?! “Greg, thank you! I’ll cancel my appointment with him - - “

  “Oh, there’s no need for that,” Greg interrupted. “I’ll take care of it for you. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”

  “Oh, thank you! Thank you! You’re so sweet to do this for me! I’m sorry about spoiling the surprise,” she apologized.

  “That’s all right this time,” Greg replied. “But next time, trust me.”

  “Oh, I will. I promise!”

  She hung up, full of hope.

  CHAPTER III

  Hilary had awakened the next morning with an excited feeling of anticipation. Oh, I hope Jay Stuart likes my musical! But why wouldn’t he? she reasoned. After all, Greg is presenting it to him, and that’s a huge plus! If Greg likes it enough to show him, that should convince Jay that it’s good.

  She jumped out of bed and took the phone with the extra long cord into the bathroom. She stepped into the shower, full of hope. Greg had told her his appointment with Jay was at seven-thirty, and it was eight-forty-five now. He should be calling any minute.

  She finished her shower, blow-dried her hair, and dressed. Still no call from Greg. She looked at the clock. Nine-thirty. The suspense was too much for her. She went into the kitchen to fix breakfast, but her hands were shaking so badly, she decided to go around the corner to her favorite coffee shop and let them wait on her. A little pampering won’t hurt. I need it right now. She grabbed her jacket and purse, ran a quick brush through her hair, and left.

  The people at the coffee shop greeted her warmly. This was just what she needed to get her mind off of what she hoped was happening between Jay Stuart and Greg.

  The breakfast was satisfying, and the coffee warm and comforting, as she occupied herself reading her newspaper and working the crossword puzzle. It was well after ten-thirty when she returned to her apartment. The phone was ringing as she entered the door. She rushed over and picked it up.

  It was Greg. “Hi, honey. Can you meet me at my place? It’s important. We have to talk.”

  “Yes, Greg - what’s up?”

  “I’ll explain it when you get here.”

  She thought he sounded nervous, and she wondered why.

  “I’ll be right there,” she told him.

  Hilary hung up the phone and tried to calm herself. She donned her jacket to ward off what was left of the morning chill.

  Her hands shook with excitement as she grabbed her purse and rushed out the door. It seemed forever before she finally reached the spot where she had parked her car on the street last night.

  Her anticipation mounted as she gripped the steering wheel and drove through the streets of Boston. Most of the parking areas were full, but she finally found one just two blocks away from Greg’s town house.

  In spite of the fact that she was a very skilled driver, in her haste and excitement she had trouble herding her car into the small space. Obstinacy seemed to resist her every move. Finally it was neatly parked.

  She turned off the ignition, put her keys in her purse, locked the car doors, and ran the two blocks to Greg’s home. In precisely twenty minutes from the time she left her apartment she rang his doorbell, breathless and anxious.

  He answered right away and escorted her into his den.

  Hilary sat in the easy chair and faced him. “What did he say, Greg? Did he like it?”

  Greg smiled indulgently, as one would smile at a child’s first attempts, and his tone was condescending. “He thi
nks it has possibilities,” he told her, “but it needs work.”

  Hilary felt her excitement and expectation mounting. “Yes, but is he going to produce it?” she asked him impatiently.

  “Well, here’s the scoop.” He paused and cleared his throat. “Hilary, you know that I’m an established composer and writer, and - well - Jay thinks that - ” He hesitated again.

  Hilary’s eyes widened in fearful anticipation. “He thinks what, Greg?”

  “Well - - it presents a problem.”

  Hilary stared, tense, not knowing what to expect.

  Greg tried to explain. “You’re an unknown writer. And Jay feels it would stand a better chance of succeeding with - - with a known name on it.”

  Hilary felt a huge letdown. “You mean your name.”

  “Well - yes,” Greg replied. “He wants it to be a hit, and he said he’d produce it only if you agreed to this.”

  Hilary shook her head in disbelief. She rose from her chair and started pacing, then looked Greg squarely in the eye. “And you said you’d go along with it.”

  It was a statement rather than a question. She stood there waiting for his answer, although she didn’t know why. She already knew what it would be.

  “Yes, I did.” He sounded impatient. “Hilary, you don’t understand the business. People will be investing their money in it, and they have to be sure it will be a hit. This is done all the time. It will just be temporary. I’ll do any rewrite that’s necessary, and it will be a start for you.”

  Hilary’s mouth fell open in surprise. “A start for me? What kind of start would this be without my name on it? How will the public know I wrote it?”

  Greg sounded exasperated. He also sounded surprised, as though he hadn’t expected opposition. “Well,” he groped, “they won’t right away. But if this is a hit, then they’ll be told.” He paused as she hesitated. “Hilary, it can’t become a hit if nobody comes to see it. I’m trying to be generous and offer to let you use my name. I’m taking a big risk here. What will happen to my reputation if it’s a flop? You could show a little more gratitude,” he pouted.