All That Glitters

13

Almost Caught

Late the following morning after Beau had returned from the office, we set out for Cypress Woods. I was in deep thought and silent for most of the journey. Beau tried to distract me by discussing some of the Dumas business enterprises, and then just before we arrived, he revealed that Bruce Bristow had been calling and making new threats concerning what he would reveal about Daphne's past shady deals if he didn't receive a better settlement.

"What did you tell him?" I asked.

"I told him to do whatever he wanted, called his bluff. The word on the street is he's not doing so well. He's been gambling and lost most of what he had managed to get from the estate. Now the bank is threatening to foreclose on his apartment building," Beau said.

"He'll be trouble, Beau, like a pebble in your shoe. You think you shook it out, but after you start walking again, it's still there."

Beau laughed. "Don't worry. I’ll shake him out," he replied. "He's not much of a challenge."

I was a little surprised at Beau's arrogance. I feared he had been around Gisselle too long.

The sky had turned completed gray and overcast by the time we pulled into Cypress Woods. The dreary feeling it imposed on me was thickened by the lack of activity around the great house. Where were the gardeners, the grounds staff? Cypress Woods always looked like a bee-hive to anyone, buzzing with bustle and hustle. Paul was so proud of our property, he wouldn't tolerate a weed in the garden. Both Beau and I noticed that some of the oil wells were not being worked as efficiently. The pall that had fallen over the bayou mansion and its spectacular surroundings was as heavy as the humidity and almost as oppressive.

"Looks deserted," Beau mumbled. My heart tripped and then began to pound as we stopped in front of the house. Pearl had fallen asleep in her seat. "I'll get her," Beau said.

The fear I had had about returning to Cypress Woods as Gisselle proved valid. Suddenly I was a stranger in what had been my own precious home. I would have to ring the doorbell and wait, and those who greeted me would greet me as an outsider. My heart would burst with the desire to cry out the truth. Beau sensed my anxiety and, with Pearl asleep on his shoulder, squeezed my hand and smiled reassuringly.

"Take it easy. You'll do just fine," he said, but uneasiness pervaded my entire being.

We walked up to the front door and rang. Moments later, James greeted us.

I could see from the expression on his face, the way his eyes had darkened and the lines had deepened, that he was very distraught and cheerless. Our servants were always so involved with us and so close that our moods affected them.

"Hello, James," I said, unable to effect the condescending tone Gisselle usually had when she addressed servants, whether they be her servants or someone else's. James gazed at me with dull, empty eyes. He didn't appear to hear my true self in my voice, having no reason to think I was other than my sister, Gisselle, whom I knew he didn't particularly care for anyway.

"Good afternoon, madame. Monsieur," he said, bowing his head slightly. Then he saw Pearl and his eyes brightened some. "And how is the little one?"

"Fine," I said.

"Is Monsieur Tate at home?" Beau asked.

"He returned from the hospital just a short while ago," James said, stepping back. "Mademoiselle Tate and Madame Pitot are with him in the study," he added. I glanced at Beau. It would be the first time Paul's sisters would see me as Gisselle.

James led us down the corridor. How strange it felt to walk through the house now and look at the things that had been mine. I gazed up the stairway toward what had been my suite. Beau and I exchanged another glance, and I saw he was deeply worried about me now that I was actually in the house. I could feel the flush in my face. My heart was pounding, but I took a deep breath and nodded.

"I'm all right," I whispered.

James paused at the doorway of the study. "Monsieur and Madame Andreas," he announced, and stepped back.

Paul was on the sofa, slouched down in the corner, a glass of bourbon in his hand. His hair was disheveled and he looked like he had slept in his clothes. Jeanne sat across from him, her eyes bloodshot from crying, and Toby sat on the other end of the sofa, looking dour, her hands folded in her lap.

But Jeanne's eyes brightened when she set eyes on us, and for a moment, my heart skipped. Did she know it was me and not my sister? I almost wished she did. However, that wasn't what had lifted the gloom for her. It was the sight of Pearl.

"The baby!" she cried, and got up. "How is she doing?"

"Just fine," Beau said.

Pearl, realizing we had stopped moving, lifted her head and squinted as she tweaked her nose like a rabbit.

"Oh, darling, sweet Pearl," Jeanne cried. "Let me hold her."

Beau handed her to Jeanne, whom Pearl immediately recognized. She smiled and Jeanne flooded her cheeks with kisses, squeezing her lovingly to her.

"Well now," Paul said, "this is an unexpected honor, Monsieur and Madame Andreas in the flesh." His lips moved to twist into a grotesque mockery.

"Anything new, Paul?" I asked quickly, ignoring his sarcasm.

"New?" He looked at Toby, pretending we had asked the simplest nonchalant question. "Anything new, Toby?"

"There's no change for the better," Toby said sadly. "In fact, this morning they decided to put her on a breathing apparatus."

"Care for a drink, Beau?" Paul said, lifting his glass.

"No, none for me, thanks."

"Too early in the day for you Creoles?" he quipped.

"Paul," Jeanne snapped. "Why don't you say hello to your child?"

Paul gazed at Pearl a moment and then nodded.

"Bring her to me," he asked. Jeanne did so. Paul didn't take her from Jeanne, but he reached up and stroked Pearl's hair before kissing her cheek. Then he sat back and sighed so deeply, I thought his heart had shattered in his chest.

"I'll take the baby for a little walk and get her something to eat," Jeanne said quickly.

"Good idea," Toby said. "I'll go speak to Letty and see about getting you something to eat, too."

"Don't trouble anyone," Beau said.

"Trouble anyone?" Paul lifted his eyes and laughed. "Anyone here troubled?"

Toby paused in front of us and smirked. "He's been drinking heavily ever since Ruby was taken to the hospital," she explained. "He's stopped looking after his business and just sits around now wallowing in self-pity. My parents are at their wits' end, especially my mother. She doesn't eat; she doesn't sleep worrying about him. See if you can do anything with him," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," Beau said.

"What's that?" Paul cried. "Did someone say it's all right?"

After Toby left, I crossed the room and stood in front of Paul and folded my arms across my chest to glare down at him sternly.

"What are you trying to prove, Paul? What are you doing to yourself?"

"Nothing. I'm not proving anything." He lifted his arms and shrugged. "Just accepting what Fate has decided will be my destiny. Right from the beginning, I was chasing a dream. Every time I thought I had turned it to reality, Fate came busting in to splatter the dream over the bayou like so much swamp mud." He paused to gaze up at me and his eyes narrowed in the strangest dark way.

"You didn't know her, but Ruby's Grandmère Catherine used to say if you swim against the tide, you'll drown," he said. It was as if he had poked a stick in my ribs.

"Stop it, Paul. Stop this overacting. The three of us know the truth. There's no need to pretend like this in front of ourselves."

"Truth? Did you mention the truth? Funny word coming from your lips, or anyone's lips for that matter," he added, and then looked up again. "What is the truth? Is it that love is really a cruel sword we turn on ourselves, exquisite torment? Or is it that only the chosen, the lucky few," he said, gazing up at Beau, "are meant to be happy on this earth? Under what star were you born that you should realize such happiness, Monsieur Beau Andreas?"

"I don't know the answer to that, Paul," Beau said softly. "But I do know that what you promised to Ruby must be kept."

"Oh, I always keep my promises," he said, eyeing me now. "I'm not the sort who doesn't."

"Paul, please . . ."

"It's all right," he muttered. He finished his drink in a gulp. "I have to lie down awhile." He struggled to stand, falling back and then pulling himself up again. "You two make yourselves at home. My sisters will look after you."

I looked at Beau desperately.

"Hey, Paul, listen," Beau said in a reasonable tone of voice, "let us help you with this burden now. We realize you took on too much. Let's move Gisselle to a hospital in New Orleans and—"

"Move her to a hospital in New Orleans just to ease my burden?" He shook his right forefinger in Beau's face. "You're speaking about the woman I love," Paul said, swaying. He smiled. "I pledged to have and to hold, through sickness and through health, until death do us part."

"Paul . . ."

He pushed me aside. "I've got to lie down," he said, and stumbled his way out of the room.

"Let him get some sleep," Beau said. "Later he'll sober up and be more sensible."

I nodded, but a moment later, we heard Paul fall on the stairway. We ran out and found he had rolled down a few steps and was sprawled at the base. James was already at his side, trying to get him up.

"Paul!" I cried.

Beau helped James get him to his feet. They each took an arm around their shoulders and carried him up the stairs, his head bobbing. I sat down on a hall bench and buried my face in my hands.

"He's all right," Beau assured me when he returned. "James and I got him to bed."

"This is horrible, Beau. We should have never let him become such an intricate part of this. I don't know what I was thinking."

"He wanted to do it; it made it all easier. We can't blame ourselves for the way he's acting. He might very well have become this way once you left anyway, Ruby. After a while he'll come to his senses. You'll see."

"I don't know, Beau," I moaned. I was ready to throw up my hands and reveal our elaborate deception.

"We have no other choice now but to see this thing through. Be strong," Beau said firmly. Then he straightened up and smiled at the sight of Jeanne and Pearl approaching.

"She's been calling for her mother. It's so sad, I can't stand it," Jeanne moaned.

"Let me take her," I said.

"You know," Jeanne said as she handed Pearl back to me, "I think she believes you're Ruby. I can't imagine why or how a child would make such a mistake."

Beau and I gazed at each other a moment and then Beau smiled.

"She's just in a state of confusion because of the rapid turn of events, the traveling, the new home," Beau said.

"That's why I was going to suggest you leave her with me. I know what a burden a baby is, but—"

"Oh no," I said sharply. "She's no burden. We have already hired a nanny to help."

"Really?" She grimaced. "Toby said you would."

"Well, why shouldn't we?" Beau said quickly.

"Oh, I didn't mean you shouldn't. I probably would, too, if I . . ."

"Everything's set. We can eat out on the patio, if that's all right with you," Toby said, coming up behind Jeanne.

"Fine," Beau said. "Gisselle?" He looked at me and I sighed. The tension and the emotional weight of seeing Paul this way were the real reason, but Paul's sisters thought I was just being my petulant self as Gisselle. They glanced at each other and tried to hide a smirk.

"It's all right," I said with great effort. "Not that I'm that hungry. Long rides always ruin my appetite," I complained. Ironically, it was a relief to fall back into Gisselle's personality. At least I didn't have the burden of conscience on my heart.

For the first time it occurred to me that this was why Gisselle had been the way she was; and for the moment, at least, I understood and even envied her for being so self-centered. She never felt sorrow over someone else's pain. To Gisselle, the world had been a great playground, a land of magic and pleasure, and anything that threatened that world was either ignored or avoided. Maybe she wasn't so stupid after all.

Except I remembered something Grandmère Catherine once said. "The loneliest people of all are those who were so selfish, they had no one with them in the autumn of their lives."

I wondered if Gisselle, falling down that dark tunnel of unconsciousness, drifting away, realized that now, if she realized anything anymore.

After lunch we let Pearl take a nap. Beau and I sat outside with Paul's sisters drinking café au lait and listening to them complain about Paul's behavior and how their mother was so beside herself because of it, she wasn't seeing anyone or leaving the house.

"Has she been to the hospital to see Ruby?" I asked, very curious.

"Mother hates hospitals," Toby said. "She had Paul at home because she hated being around sick people, and it was a difficult birth. Daddy had to plead with her into going there for our births."

Beau and I exchanged knowing glances, understanding this was part of the fabrication Paul's parents had created to cover up Paul's real mother's identity.

"Are you two going to the hospital to see Ruby?" Jeanne asked.

I thought how Gisselle would respond to such a question first and then replied, "What for? She's always sleeping, isn't she?"

Toby and Jeanne glanced at each other.

"She's still your sister . . . dying," Jeanne said, and then burst into tears. "I'm sorry. I can't help it. I really loved Ruby."

Toby threw her arms around her, rocking and comforting her and shooting glances of reproach my way.

"Maybe we should go to the hospital, Beau," I said quickly, and rose from my chair. I couldn't sit out there with them any longer and pretend to be insensitive, nor could I stand their sorrow over what they thought was my demise.

Beau followed me into the house. He caught up with me in the study, where I, too, had burst into tears that fell scalding on my cheeks.

"Oh, Beau, we shouldn't have come here. I can't stand all this sorrow. I feel it's my fault."

"That's ridiculous. How can it be your fault? You didn't cause Gisselle to get sick, did you? Well . . . did you?"

I ground my eyes dry and took a deep breath. "Paul reminded me of the time I once went with Nina Jackson to see a Voodoo Mama, who put a spell on Gisselle. Maybe that spell never stopped."

"Now, Ruby, you don't seriously believe—"

"I do, Beau. I always have believed in the spiritual powers some people have. My Grandmère Catherine had them. I saw her heal people, comfort them, give them hope, with merely a laying on of her hands."

Beau grimaced skeptically. "So what do you want to do? Do you want to go to the hospital?"

"Yes, I have to go."

"All right, we'll go. Do you want to wait for Pearl to wake up or—"

"No. We'll ask Jeanne and Toby to look after her until we return."

"Fine," Beau said.

"I'll be right down. I've got to get something," I said, and started out.

"What?"

"Something," I said firmly. I hurried upstairs to what had been my suite and slipped in without anyone seeing or hearing me. I went to the dresser and opened the bottom drawer where I had the pouch of five-finger grass Nina Jackson had once given me to ward off evil and the dime with the string through it to wear around my ankle for good luck.

Then I went to the adjoining door and opened it slightly to peek in on Paul. He was fast asleep in his bed, hugging his pillow to him. Over his headboard, hanging like a religious icon, was my picture in a silver frame. The pathetic sight brought hot tears to my eyes again and made my chest ache with the weight of such sadness, I couldn't breathe. I felt as if I had thrown myself into the pot and it was up to me to keep from being boiled.

I dosed the door softly and left the suite. Beau was waiting at the foot of the stairs.

"I've already spoken to Jeanne and Toby," he said. "They'll look in on Pearl until we return."

"Good," I said. Beau didn't ask what I had gone upstairs to get. We drove to the hospital and inquired at the nurses' station for directions to Gisselle's private room. The nurse Paul had hired was sitting in a chair near the bed crocheting. She looked up with surprise, her mouth agape.

"Mr. Tate told me his wife had a twin sister, but I've never seen so identical a set of twins," she said, regaining her composure.

"We're not so identical," I said sternly. Gisselle would have said something like that and would have made her feel uncomfortable. The nurse was happy to excuse herself while we visited. I wanted her out of the room anyway.

As soon as she left, I went to Gisselle's bedside. She had the oxygen tubes in her nose and the IV bag connected to her arm. Her eyes were closed and she looked even smaller and paler than when I had last seen her. Even her hair had grown dull. Her skin had the pallor of the underbelly of dead fish. Beau stood back as I held Gisselle's hand and stared down at her. I don't know what I expected, but there was no sign that she had any awareness whatsoever. Finally, after a sigh. I took out the pouch of five-finger grass and put it under her pillow.

"What's that?" Beau asked.

"Something Nina Jackson once gave me. Inside the bag is a plant with a leaf that is divided into five segments. It brings restful sleep and wards off any evil that five fingers can bring."

"What? You're not serious."

"Each segment has a significance: luck, money, wisdom, power, and love."

"You really believe in this stuff?" he asked.

"Yes," I said. Then I lifted the cover and quickly tied my good-luck dime around Gisselle's ankle.

"What are you doing?"

"This, too, brings good luck and wards off evil," I told him.

"Ruby, what do you think they'll say when they find this stuff?"

"They'll probably think one of my Grandmère's friends came around and did it," I said.

"I hope so. Gisselle would certainly never bring anything like this. She made fun of these things," he reminded me.

"Still, I had to do it, Beau."

"All right. Let's not stay too long, Ruby," he said nervously. "We should return to New Orleans before it gets too late."

I held Gisselle's hand for a moment, said a silent prayer, and touched her forehead. I thought her eyelids fluttered, but maybe that was my hope or my imagination.

"Good-bye, Gisselle. I'm sorry we were never real sisters." I felt a tear on my cheek and touched it with the tip of my right forefinger. Then I brought it to her cheek and touched her with the wetness. Maybe now, maybe finally now, she's crying inside for me, too, I thought, and turned quickly to run out of the room and rush away from the sight of my dying sister.

Paul had still not risen when we returned, but Pearl was up and playing with Jeanne and Toby in the study. Her eyes brightened with happiness when she saw it was me. I wanted to rush to her and hold her dearly in my arms, but Gisselle wouldn't have done that, I told myself, and I kept a check on my emotions.

"We've got to get back to New Orleans," I said abruptly.

"What was it like at the hospital?" Toby asked. "Like talking to yourself," I said. Ironically, that was the truth.

The two sisters nodded with identically melancholy faces.

"You can leave the baby with me," Jeanne suggested. "I don't mind."

"Oh no. We couldn't do that," I said. "I promised my sister I would look after her."

"You? Promised Ruby?"

"At a weak moment," I said, "but I have to keep the promise."

"Why? You're not crazy about children, are you?" Toby asked disdainfully.

I looked at Beau for help.

"We've already hired a nanny," he said. "Everything's arranged and in place."

"An aunt is better suited to look after her than a nanny, isn't she?" Jeanne retorted.

"What do you think I am, chopped onions?" I snapped. When it came to holding on to Pearl, I could be as firm and as stinging as my sister.

"Well, I just meant . . . it's no problem for me."

"And it's no problem for me," I retorted. "Pearl." held out my arms and she ran to me. "Tell Paul we'll call him later," I said.

I hurried out with Pearl in my arms and Beau at my side before there could be any further discussion. My face was flushed, my eyes wide with near hysteria.

"Take it easy," Beau said when we were all in the car. "You did fine. Everything's all right."

I didn't calm down until we were well on our way. The rain that had hovered in the clouds all day kept its promise and fell in a constant downpour during the whole trip back to New Orleans. The sky over the city was ripped with seams of lightning and the thunder rolled so loud and hard, it shook us even in the car. I was happy when we finally arrived at the house. Aubrey greeted us with a list of phone calls and we saw that Bruce Bristow had called frequently.

"I see I'm going to have to get tough with him to get him off our backs," Beau said, and crumpled the messages in his fist angrily. At the moment I couldn't care less about those problems. Pearl was too groggy from the ride to eat anything, and I was emotionally exhausted. I put her to bed and then took a hot bath and crawled into bed myself. Hours later, I heard Beau come up, but I barely acknowledged him when he crawled into bed beside me, and minutes later, he was asleep, too.

I was filled with nervous tension and great anxiety during the next few days. For me the hours were like days and the days like months. I would stop myself and gaze at the clock, shocked that only minutes had ticked by. Every time the phone rang, I jumped and my heart skipped beats and pounded, but it was usually one or another of Gisselle's friends calling. I was short with all of them, and soon most of them stopped bothering to call. One afternoon Pauline phoned to tell me I was losing all my friends, driving them away one by one.

"Everyone says you've become more stuck-up than ever," she informed me. "They say you think you're too good to speak to them on the phone and you haven't invited anyone to the house."

"I have more important things to worry about right now," I snapped.

"Don't you care if you lose all your friends?"

"They weren't really my friends anyway. All they care about is what they can get from me," I told her.

"Does that include me?" she asked petulantly.

"If the shoe fits, wear it," I said.

"Good-bye, Gisselle. I hope you're happy in your own world," she said with disgust.

In weeks I had driven away most of Gisselle's friends, people I never liked anyway, and I had done it in character so no one thought anything unusual about it. Beau was amused and happy. It was practically the only bright spot in the gloomy days that followed our visit to Cypress Woods.

Whenever I called, either Toby or Jeanne came to the phone. Paul was always unavailable. They were very short with me, too. Gisselle's condition remained unchanged. Toby, who could be more caustic than Jeanne, said, "It's only a matter of time. I hope your sister's death doesn't interfere with anything you've scheduled. I know how important your social calendar is to you."

I thought to myself that Gisselle deserved such reprimands, and kept my lips sealed, but it hurt nevertheless. At the end of the last call, she said, "I don't know why my brother doesn't insist you bring Pearl home, where she belongs, but I think you should."

How could I tell her that Paul couldn't ask me to bring home the child who wasn't his?

"Worry about yourself, Toby. It seems to me you have enough there to occupy you," I snapped, and ended the conversation. I felt absolutely dreadful about it, and when I told Beau he nodded sadly.

"It's the way things have to be for now," he offered, but that wasn't enough.

"Sometimes I feel like I've put myself into a spider's web, Beau. The more I twist and struggle, the more I entrap myself."

"It will come to an end soon and we'll go on with our lives. You'll see," he assured me; however, I didn't have his confidence. Life had clearly shown me that it could take twists and turns when we least expected it.

Two days later one of those twists occurred. I had been doing well in my role as my sister mainly because I had driven away her friends and her boyfriends and stayed away from her usual haunts. Few, if any, were astute enough to see the differences. None expected such a switch of identities, of course. In their hearts they probably thought, who would want to be Gisselle?

My hope was that after a time, I would transform my sister's personality until it resembled my own, and Beau and I would even move to another location, perhaps another city, and start our lives over with far less deceit.

I was in my studio just dabbling with a picture when Aubrey knocked on my door to tell me I had a visitor. Before I could ask who it was, Bruce Bristow appeared behind him. My stepmother's husband looked like he had aged decades since I had last set eyes on him. His dark brown hair was flecked with gray, the temples all gray, and their were dark sacks under his eyes. He had lost considerable weight, too, his face gaunt, those flirtatious eyes now dim orbs. He slouched a bit and wore a creased jacket and slacks, the tie stained and his shirt open at the frayed collar. There was a scuff mark of some sort on his left cheekbone. He smiled coyly and entered. The moment he did, the stench of gin invaded the air.

"What are you doin' in here, tryin' to be your sista?" He laughed. Now that he was closer, I saw how bloodshot his eyes were and understood why he was slurring his words.

"You're drunk, Bruce. Get out of here, this instant," I ordered.

"Not sooo fass," he said. He closed and opened his eyes, swaying for a moment. "You and your hushbun might think you're smoothies, but you better hear me out before you make a decision you'll regret."

"Getting you out of our lives can't be a decision I'd ever regret," I said, and because I meant it, I was able to be as vicious about it as Gisselle would have been.

He snapped his head back, but he smiled again. "Sooo, what are you doin' in here?" He gazed at the canvas. "You can't draw or paint. You're the sista without talent, remember?" He laughed sharply and steadied himself by taking hold of the back of a chair.

"I remember how much I despised you," I said. "You were like a leech, swimming in here when my father died and attaching yourself to the family to suck whatever you could out of it. But that's all over now, and nothing you say, no matter how outrageous it might seem, will get you back. Now, go before Beau returns."

His smile widened and some drool leaked out of the corners of his mouth. "You weren't always so eager to send me away," he said, moving closer. I stepped to the side, the paintbrush still in my hand. I was holding it like a sword between us. He stared at me a moment, his eyes opening and closing with his attempts to focus sharply. And then he looked at the canvas again.

"You don't sheem too upset 'bout your sista bein' in a bad way," he said.

"Why should I? Would she be upset if it was me in the hospital?"

"You know she would," he replied softly, and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he snapped them open as if a thought had just made its way into his clogged brain. "Ya don't sound like yourself either." He looked at the canvas again. "Thass too good for you ta have done. Was it here before?"

“Yes."

"I thawt show. I mean, I thought so." He smiled again and then he grew as serious as he could, trying to straighten his tie as he corrected his posture. "I want you ta help me convince Beau he should be a little more reasonable about this family fortune. I know some of the shady tax schemes Daphne did and I'm willing ta go to the government and expose them," he threatened.

"So go. You didn't have your hands clean either, did you? You'd only be exposing yourself for what you were and what you probably still are."

He smiled with confidence and more sobriety. "Yeah, but you know how it is when someone turns state's evidence. He gets leniency. I can see to it that this estate gets some terrific fines. How would you and your high-society husband do then, huh?"

"We'll be all right. Get out, Bruce, before I have Aubrey call the police."

He raked his eyes over me scornfully. "What if I told your husband about the time I came to see you while you were taking your bubble bath? Remember how I washed your back and gave you that massage and then—"

"I've already told him," I blurted.

He stared at me a moment. "I don't believe you."

"So don't. I don't care. Just get out."

My determination and lack of fear annoyed and confused him. "I took some papers out of here. I'm warning you two. I can prove my accusations."

"Then go prove them."

"You're crazy. Both of you are crazy." He stared at me a moment longer and then looked at the canvas again. One of his eyebrows jerked up quizzically. My resistance had sobered him quickly and gotten him thinking.

"That's not an old picture. The paint's still wet. How did you do that? You can't do that." His eyes narrowed into slits that reminded me of snake's eyes. "Something's not right here." His words had the impact of bullets.

"Get out!" I screamed. "Get out!"

His eyes brightened with a possibility. "La Ruby," he said. "You're La Ruby. What's going on?"

"Get out!" I charged at him and he put his arms up. Just then, Beau appeared in the doorway. He lunged into the room and seized Bruce by the back of the neck and turned him roughly toward the door.

"What are you doing in our house! I told you not to come here, didn't I?" He pushed him toward the door. Bruce regained his balance and looked back at us. His face was magenta with rage.

"What are you two up to, huh? This isn't Gisselle. I know Gisselle. She has a harder look in her eyes."

"You're ridiculous," Beau said, but not with enough confidence. Bruce was buoyed. He smiled.

"This is some sort of scam to get you two more money or something, isn't it? I’ll tell everyone."

"Go ahead," Beau said. "Everyone will believe the words of a drunken, pathetic gambler. The whole city's talking about you and the way you've degenerated. You have as much credibility as a convicted serial killer."

Bruce nodded. "All right. I'll get proof, that's what I'll do. Unless you two get sensible and cut me in on what is rightly mine anyway. I'll call you in a couple of days and see if you want to be smart or greedy," he said.

"Get out of here before I break your neck," Beau said, moving toward him. Bruce backed away and started down the corridor. Beau followed him all the way to the front entrance, opening it and pushing him out. Bruce voiced one final threat before the doors closed.

"The whole city is going to know what you're up to!" he cried, shaking his fist.

Beau slammed the door in his face. "It's all right, Aubrey," he said. "Everything is under control."

"Very good, sir." Aubrey retreated and Beau followed me into the living room.

"Don't worry yourself about him," he told me after I sat. My heart was pounding and I felt the blood rushing into my face. "I mean it, no one will give one word he says any credibility. You should hear some of the things they're saying about him now."

"How could Daphne had brought such a person into her life after being married to my father?" I wondered aloud.

"You said yourself she used people and then discarded them like so much baggage," Beau replied. He came to my side and sat beside me to take my hand. "You can't let him get to you, Ruby."

"But how did he know? Of all the people to look at me and know . . . a drunken man?" I looked at Beau and answered my own question. "He was intimate with Gisselle. She toyed with him, I'm sure."

"Probably," Beau said.

"He was always flirting with me, coming right up to me and taking my hands and looking into my eyes. I hated it; he always had some onions or something on his breath and I had to be polite but firm. And it was my painting . . . I shouldn't have let him see my painting. That, more than anything, gave it away."

"What difference does it make what he knows and doesn't know, what he did and didn't do? He's a man who's lost respect, and in this town, when you have no respect, you don't have a voice. Believe me, I'll be able to handle him," Beau promised.

"It's no good, Beau," I said, shaking my head. "If a shack's built on weak legs, the first bad flood will wash it away. We're trying to build a new life with a foundation of lies. It's going to come back and haunt us."

"Only if we let it," he insisted. He put his arm around me. "Come on, take a rest. Later you'll feel better. We'll go out to one of the finer restaurants and have a spectacular dinner, okay?"

"I don't know, Beau," I said with a deep sigh.

"Well, I do. The doctor's prescribing," he said, sighing, and helped me to my feet.

Above the marble fireplace, Daphne's portrait still hung, the beautiful ivory face peering down at me with an expression of arrogance and self-satisfaction. My father worshiped that beauty and loved having replicas of her everywhere in the mansion.

Remember, child, the devil in all his forms fascinates us, Grandmère Catherine had warned. We're drawn to him like a child is drawn to the wonder of a candle flame and is tempted to put the tip of his finger into the light, only to get burned.

How I hoped and prayed Beau and I had not put our fingers into the candle's flame.