Free Scent of Triumph by Jan Moran Page A

weather is marvelous, and it’s a growing city.”
    “We can’t consider anything until our family is reunited. Now that Max has joined the war effort, our plan to relocate our business is on hold.” Danielle gazed into the fire, saddened by the plight of their family, friends, and employees in Poland. “We were simply too late with our plan.”
    “This must be a nightmare for you.” Abigail clucked her tongue. “But you should consider Los Angeles. I happen to love America, it’s fabulous.”
    Danielle forced a smile. “So I’ve heard. Gold in the streets, or so they say.”
    “Not quite. But look at Cameron Murphy.” Abigail brightened. “Imagine, he was one of eleven children in a family from County Cork, Ireland. Had a terrible childhood, from what he’s told me, poor as beggars. He said his father beat him so badly once that, when he could manage, he ran away and worked his way to America, then to Los Angeles. Why, he was only fifteen at the time.”
    “How did he become such a success?” Danielle rubbed her hands in front of the fire and her circulation began to return.
    “He worked at our Long Beach shipping dock, that’s where he and Jon met, until he found a job as a bartender in a private club. Whilst he tended bar, he also sang a little, and that was when one of the record producers heard him. After a vocal test, the rest, as they say, is history.”
    Abigail rose from her chair and crossed to an inlaid table bearing crystal-decanted liqueurs. “Sherry to warm you?”
    Danielle pressed a hand to her belly. “Just soda,
merci
.”
    “Oh, forgive me. You’re a smart mother.” She poured a soda. “Anyway, you can’t believe everything you hear. Sure, Cameron’s a rascal sometimes, but he always helps the Red Cross, brings out other stars, too. He’s never said no to me.”
    “Why, that’s admirable.” The rascal she had met, but she’d never imagined such a generous, hard-working side to Cameron Murphy. She took the soda Abigail offered.
    “He’s a good man in that regard, despite the gossip. Of course, he and Jon don’t always see eye to eye.”
    “Why not?”
    “Cameron always gets the girl, I suppose. It’s an old rivalry.” Abigail inched her chair near the fire and cradled her glass of sherry. “The Cameron Murphy I know is sweet and kind, though he seems rather lost. I’d like to see him marry again.”
    Danielle lifted a brow. “Do I detect some interest on your part?”
    Abigail laughed. “He’s fun, but hardly my type. And my parents would simply die. No, I’m resigned to being an old maid, Danielle. I’ll probably never have children, and a virile man like that, well, I’m sure he wants scads of children.”
    Danielle heard a twinge of sadness in Abigail’s voice. Jon had confided to her that Abigail had recently broken an engagement with an old family friend, Sir Rutherford Morton. She decided to keep the conversation light. “Why did he divorce that actress, Erica Evans?”
    “I’m not sure. They were so young when they married. Cam says they’re super friends now, which is unusual, especially for Hollywood. But I’ve heard Erica is still crazy about him.”
    * * *
    Jon glanced up when Max appeared at the door to the balcony, glad to see his friend, but embarrassed by Cameron’s drunken state. He’d been trying to get Cameron to leave before Max and Danielle arrived.
    Max shook Jon’s hand in a warm greeting. “Abigail told me you two are on the lookout for enemy airplanes.”
    “Ah, nary a one tonight,” Cameron slurred, his Irish brogue evident. “Scared they are, of havin’ to contend w’me, I’m sure.”
    Jon winced at Cameron’s reply. He shot a reassuring look at Max. “We shouldn’t have to worry about Nazi air attacks in the city, Max. Not at this point, anyway,” he added hastily. “There are other more attractive hits. Our shipyards and air strips, for example. No, London should be peaceful tonight.”
    Cameron wavered over the