Harriet’s face registered the dismissal with bulging eyes. She turned away and left Madison bathing in the aftermath of a testosterone-fueled cockfight. Sam versus Rupert: round two.
“Good morning, sweetie.” The greeting from a woman’s voice seeped inside their almost-bursting bubble.
Aunt Louise.
Showtime.
14
RUPERT SWIVELED TO face the diminutive form of Madison’s aunt. He gave a slight bow, extended his hand, and in the most accomplished way, said, “How do you do, Miss LeBon?”
Any normally constituted female would have shown some reaction to that perfect mix of good breeding and old-fashioned hotness. Not Aunt Louise.
“You must be Rupert.” A handshake accompanied Louise’s flat statement.
“Indeed. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from Madison, but also Bernadette and Mamie. I was disappointed not to meet you when we visited Pierre Part at Easter.”
“Baton Rouge is only an hour’s drive away.” Louise’s answer was terse.
Obviously Madison’s aunt hadn’t gotten used to English upper-class chitchat, but Rupert wasn’t a fool; he got the message loud and clear. “You’re right. I’m sorry we didn’t take the time to visit you.”
The meeting had veered into awkwardness right from the first introductions. Madison encircled her constricted throat with her hand. Aunt Louise was such a piece of work. She had no interest whatsoever in a little bit of social schmoozing.
“Rupert booked a table at the Randolph for one o’clock, so we have plenty of time,” Madison said.
“Would you like a soda? Or some sparkling water?” Rupert offered.
“I’ll have a bourbon, please.” Louise pointed at the bottles on display on the other side of the galley behind the bar counter.
“A Maker’s Mark should do the trick,” Sam chimed in.
Madison startled. Sam must have witnessed the exchange between her aunt and boyfriend. His Southern drawl hadn’t escaped Louise either.
“Where are you from”—she bent her head forward and squinted her eyes to read the name on his badge—“Sam?” She addressed him as if she was a wise old lady talking to a kid, but Aunt Louise had barely hit her forties.
“New Orleans.”
“Good boy.” Promptly turning her back on Rupert, Louise said to Madison, “I’m glad to see you’re not alone here.”
The insult was badly masked. Louise wasn’t a social butterfly, but even that degree of asshole-ness was out of character. She acted as if she wanted Rupert out of Madison’s life, pronto. Madison expected Rupert to lash out and forget about his genetically embedded manners. He didn’t direct his anger at Louise but murdered Sam with a look and leaned against the counter. He crossed his legs at ankle level, but his relaxed posture didn’t fool Madison. He hadn’t missed the slap inflicted by her aunt. Madison rubbed her brow, eager to ward off the tension building up inside her. She had to say something.
“I only met Sam a few days ago.” Good, Madison. About as useful as a trapdoor on a canoe.
“Here we are.” Sam settled the tumbler of bourbon in front of Louise. His muscular and tattooed arms bulged out of his tight, short-sleeved T-shirt.
Not exactly the poster boy for a conservative Ursuline nun.
Rupert waited for Louise to take her first sip before continuing the dialogue. “So, are you finally settled in Oxford?”
Keeping her eyes on Sam, and after a second gulp of bourbon, Louise answered, “I know all my students’ names by heart. It’s always a bit difficult to step in as a teacher mid-year, but …” Her sentence hung in the air, and her glass stopped midway to her mouth. The color left her cheeks. Her fingers tightened around the tumbler and her knuckles turned white.
Madison followed Louise’s gaze. She was staring at Sam. Was it his pumped-up torso? His crossed, muscled arms? His tattoo? Could her aunt be a victim to pure hotness? It’s a bit late for Aunt Louise to give up on her vows now.
The glass landed back on the bar counter. Madison searched for Rupert’s eyes over her aunt’s head. His gaze was going back and forth between the two leads of the silent-movie drama. Sam and Louise made an unlikely silver-screen couple. Sam was also staring at Louise, not moving. Confidence sparkled in his eyes.
“We should leave,” Louise said to Madison. “I’ve seen enough of this place.” She grabbed her purse, spun on her heels and strode toward the exit.
What the hell? Had Louise recognized Sam from somewhere else? Was she shocked because of his tattoos?
“So I guess we’ll have lunch earlier than planned.” Rupert straightened up and took Madison’s satchel from the floor to hand it to her. “Let’s go.”
He dropped a twenty-pound note on the bar counter, then circled her shoulders. She nestled herself against him, searching for some comfort in his warmth. If Aunt Louise had always been a bit marbled, today’s behavior had topped it all.
Madison dared give a look of apology to Sam. He hadn’t changed his posture. The only sign that he hadn’t frozen was the light brush of his index finger circling the periphery of his tattoo. The one with the eagle in its center.
“Bye,” she ventured.
She had expected weirdness, even a clash, but Rupert was supposed to be the one under Louise’s scrutiny. Not fresh-off-the-boat Sam.
Sam nodded at Madison.
She and Rupert were heading for the door when Rupert stopped and turned. His grip on Madison tightened as he addressed Sam. “I’ve no idea what happened there. I’m not even sure I want to know. But let’s get something clear.” He pointed toward Sam’s chest. “Don’t mess with my girl.”
Madison opened her mouth. She wanted Rupert to get over the misunderstanding, but he didn’t give her the time. He force-marched her forward, away from Sam. She managed to steal one last glance back at him. The cockiness had receded from his eyes. They now displayed plain worry.
No meal at the Randolph had ever matched the perfection of the first dinner date Rupert had shared there with Madison. It was probably because they had never been there on their own again since and tonight was no exception.
Before walking home, Louise left them to refresh herself. Rupert sat opposite Madison at the table nestled in the corner of the restaurant overlooking Magdalen Street. She was engrossed in the rays of sun glistening over the crystal glasses through the French windows. Her fingers played with the stem of the glass. She was keeping herself busy to avoid mentioning her aunt’s nutcase behavior at the Turf. He had his own thorny conversation topics anyway.
“Something happened in London with Camilla,” he said. “Something … weird.”
His words pulled Madison’s attention away from her liquid games. The glass landed back on the table, and the wine almost spilled over its rim.
“Is Camilla all right?” she asked.
“Yes, the doctor came right away. They took her for an ultrasound and the baby’s fine.” His father had texted him just after reaching Oxford from London that morning, before Rupert had joined Madison at the Turf.
“What happened?” Her question was a whisper, and the words struggled out through her constricted throat.
“She fell down the stairs.” He cleared his throat and dropped the bombshell. “She said someone pushed her.”
Madison’s drew her hands sharply to her chest. “I knew. I knew it was going to happen.” Tears were already welling up in her eyes.
Rupert could almost taste her guilty fears. “I didn’t see anyone.” He hardened his tone to steer her thoughts away from the conclusion she had already drawn. “I was there at the bottom of the stairs. She fell right in front of me. I didn’t see anyone or anything.”
“Ghosts and spirits can’t be seen by people like you. That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”
Madison’s lips trembled and pink circles appeared across her cheekbones. Thunderbolts could have burst from her eyes and struck him dead. Rupert shuffled in his seat. He had faile
d Madison, just like he had before when she had needed his help to fight Peter. He had treated her like a freak. He hadn’t learned from his mistakes. Not one bit. Shame hit him hard and he sat back against his chair.
“I’m sorry. I won’t let that happen again.” Unfurling his fist, he pointed his index finger at her. “But first, I need to make sure that you’re safe.”
Her lips twisted into a pout that shouted out she didn’t care one iota about his protective instincts. “I need you to believe in me, not protect me.”
He could see a tear was threatening to fall from the corner of her eye. He felt like a total ass. “I want you to come and live with me.”
Her mouth morphed from a turned-down look of stubborn resistance to one of surprise. “What?”
15
RUPERT LEANED ACROSS the table, eager to make his point before Louise came back. He grabbed Madison’s hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. Her skin was soft under his. “Come and live with me.”
A muffled sound of dismay escaped from Madison’s mouth and she shook her head. “Where does that come from?”
Rupert gave another quick glance toward where Louise had disappeared a few minutes earlier. The way was still clear, but he had to hurry.
“Monty’s gone. We’ll have the house to ourselves. I can be with you every night, when the nightmares scare you, every morning to talk them through, so that you’re never alone, ever again.” He wasn’t just pleading, he was begging.
She shook her head again and pulled her hand away from his. “This is a bit sudden, don’t you think?”
Her hesitation slapped Rupert like a full-blown rejection. “We’re a bit different from everybody else, don’t you think?” His words cut through her and she flinched. “At least our circumstances are.”
Madison ran her tongue over her lips while her gaze shifted to follow the crowd passing by beneath the Randolph’s windows.
“You don’t need to answer now, or even today … just think about it.” His voice was searching for her and trying to bring her back to him, to them. “After what happened with Camilla and what you found at Hampton Court, we have to …” He looked for his words. “I can look after you better if we share the same roof.”
An invisible curtain had fallen between them; her spine and neck had turned to iron.
“So you can check I’m not going totally cuckoo?” she challenged him.
But Louise was now standing by her side. “I’m ready to go.” Her purse hung from her bony shoulder and she didn’t hide her desire for lunch to be over.
If the nun had afforded Rupert a better treatment than the straight aversion she had shown Sam, she wasn’t yet part of Rupert’s fan club. Mental note: schmooze Louise LeBon. Harder. But not today … Madison stood as well. Grabbing his credit card and receipt from the table, he signaled for them to take the lead toward the exit. Soon they faced each other on the pavement outside the hotel.
Madison lifted her hands, palms upward. “It’s the warmest day of the spring so far.”
“Walk me back to my house, please.” Louise directed the request to her niece. The invitation hadn’t been extended to her boyfriend.
Rupert took the hint. “Thank you very much for taking the time to meet me, Miss LeBon. It means a lot to me.” And because he didn’t see any reason to keep his cards close to his chest, he added, “Madison means a lot to me.”
While the statement had been made to Louise, his gaze was wrapped around Madison. Her stare flickered at him until she cast her eyes back downward. Electricity heated up the space between them, and he resented the void. He resented Louise LeBon for stealing Madison from him. Madison’s hands were pressed together in front of her while she waited for her aunt and Rupert to say their goodbyes.
Rupert wanted to take Madison in his arms, tell her he’d be there for her, whatever happened. Forever. If only she would let him.
Embarrassment weighed on Madison’s heart while she walked up St. Giles, her arm entwined with Louise’s. She had behaved like a ten-year-old kid trying to score brownie points with her teacher. She was twenty-two years old, yet still she had to please her aunt. Or at least she felt like she had to.
“That’s probably the fanciest place I’ve ever eaten in my whole life,” Louise remarked. “I wonder what Rupert must have thought of Le Perroquet.”
“He liked it very much.”
Her aunt’s mouth twisted and she gave Madison a sideways glance.
“No really, he raved about it in front of his father when we had dinner together.” Madison’s voice rose as she asked, “Why don’t you like him?” She unlocked her arm from her aunt’s and took a step back. “Actually, what have any of my friends done to piss you off, and—”
“Sweetie, don’t use bad words. We taught you good manners at school.”
Madison couldn’t help rolling her eyes, which upgraded her from a middle-grader to full-blown teenager. Frustration, with herself and with her family, boiled up inside, while words rushed to her mouth.
“Good manners? You freaked out in front of a waiter at the Turf you’d never met before, then treated the guy I love like shit. A guy who took the time to invite you to the best restaurant in Oxford so you could get to know him better.” Louise slanted her body away from the accusations, but before she could express herself, Madison forged on. “So really, whose bad manners are we actually talking about here?”
Her aunt’s face turned blank, but her posture remained rigid, the muscles taut in her neck. “You’re being unfair,” she said simply, with a shrug.
Madison’s temperature rose. “I’m not being unfair. I thought you coming to Oxford would give me some moral support, but it’s been the opposite.” Jackson’s doubts sprang to her mind. “I’ve even started to question your motives for moving to England.”
Louise tucked in her elbows and lowered her chin to her chest. The blush that spread from one cheek to the other over the bridge of her nose stirred Madison’s suspicions that her aunt was harboring a secret. She watched Louise, searching for other tell-all signs that something was off.
“Why are you here?” Madison asked.
Louise pressed her lips together and the resulting silence was her sole answer.
Madison’s heartbeat thumped. “What are you not telling me?” Dread made the pitch of her voice jump, and she clenched her arms to her chest.
Louise exhaled with a long breath. Her second reaction was a small nod. “Let’s find somewhere to sit.”
They were standing in front of St. Giles Church, and its cemetery. Madison hadn’t set foot here since her last visit with Ollie, when they had laid flowers—red roses—on Sarah’s grave. Louise wasn’t aware of Madison’s bond with the place; the graveyard simply offered an immediate respite from the city center’s buzzing traffic. The gravestones basked in the welcoming warmth of the afternoon sunlight. Madison psyched herself up and followed her aunt. Louise couldn’t know that Peter—Sarah and Pippa’s killer; Madison’s stalker—was also buried in one of those ancient tombs.
Louise found the tiny stone bench behind the last row of graves, just in front of the alley beside the church. Madison had sat here the night Rupert had confided in her, the night he had confronted his guilt and his mother’s death.
Louise patted the bench beside her. “It’s time for us to talk.”
“About what?” Madison’s voice trailed off and she started fumbling with her ring.
“Please sit down,” her aunt insisted.
Madison obeyed, her mind racing and searching for answers.
“I’ve come to Oxford for you … to finish what I started when I took you with me to boarding school.”
Madison felt her eyebrows squash together and she flinched slightly. “Finish what you started?” she repeated. “Why didn’t you follow me to Connecticut when I went to Yale then?”
“Because it wasn’t time.” Louise folded her hands on her lap and her gaze became wayward.
“Time for what?” Madison challe
nged her. “Can you please stop being so mysterious?”
Louise zeroed in on Madison. “All these years I’ve been preparing you. While your grandmother was playing magic tricks”—she punctuated her words with an exaggerated upward glance—“I was making sure you would be ready for the day of your calling.”
Things were moving too quickly for Madison to process. She pressed her hands together to still her need to break into a sprint and escape any freaking talk of a “calling.”
“What calling are you talking about?” she whispered.
“The one you’ve been waiting for since your first breath … since the second you were conceived.” Louise rubbed her hand through her hair and her tidy bob lost its symmetry. “The calling our line has been awaiting for centuries.”
“You can’t be serious. Out of everyone in my life, you, I mean …” Madison’s voice quaked. “You’re a nun. You can’t believe in voodoo, in lingering souls and all the craziness Mamie failed to indoctrinate you in.”
“There are things even your grandmother doesn’t know, things she should never know. She isn’t The One.”
Madison did a double take, rubbed her eyelids and blinked. “The One? Why are you turning all conspiracy theory on me?”
Her aunt’s facial expression sagged and she sighed. “This isn’t a joke. Unfortunately. I’m as much a prisoner to this curse as you are.” Her head tilted back to look skyward.
A curse? Madison jumped to her feet. She tried to reconnect with the world around her, but she couldn’t hear the thumping of the passing cars anymore, or smell the freshly cut grass surrounding the graves. Her senses were numb. Soon she was going to hear a Buffy-like statement: In every generation, a slayer is born … Or that kind of old crap.
Louise stood and joined her with shuffling footsteps. “There’s so much I have to explain.” She grabbed Madison’s elbow. “The whole New Orleans voodoo queens theatrics aren’t what we’re here for, what we’re meant for.”
Oxford Shadows Page 8
