A tinny voice wafted across the wire. “Gab...beee? Here’s a news flash for WDIX. There’s a bomb in the building set to blow at 2 a.m. If you tip off your reporters before you call the cops, imagine the scoop. BOOM!”
“What? A bomb in the building? Who is this?” Gaby’s eyes were huge. Her hand shook. She almost dropped the receiver as a loud click followed a vacuous laugh.
“A bomb?” Sweat beaded André’s brow.
Gaby quickly relayed what the voice had said. She stood, grabbed her purse and headed for the door. “Hurry up! Let’s get out of here.”
André methodically eased out several of her desk drawers. “We have two hours. Grab the most important files and clear out Drive to a pay phone and call the police. That phone call might have triggered the device. I’ll stay and search until a bomb squad arrives.”
“Are you crazy? I’m not going without you!”
His eyes bored through her. “Think of Leslie.” He finished searching the desk, walked over and started on the file cabinets.
She roused herself. “André, I just saw my entire life flash by in ten seconds. Not all of it is pretty. But I’m no coward. If you stay, I stay.”
He whirled. “Whoever’s responsible has crossed a line here, Gabrielle. Eliminate both of us, and they virtually destroy Lyon Broadcasting.”
“You think a competitor is behind this?”
“Could be.” He joined her in the center of the room. “You said he called you by name. You might be the one this sick bastard wants to bring down. We won’t let him. So go. Now!”
“No. Because—” she stared at him, eyes misty “—I...I’ve been lying to myself and to you, André. I love you. I can’t—won’t go to my grave a liar.”
André’s body snapped back with a jerk. He let go of her arms and drove his fingers into her hair, loosening strands from the clasp. “You might have picked a more opportune time to tell me,” he said with a crooked smile. “Now, more than ever, we’ve got to beat this. Go, Gabrielle. Please, sweetheart.”
“There’s more to my confession,” she said fitfully, clutching his shirtfront. “I’m...I’m...” Her hands grew damp. “I’ve been so tired and draggy these last three months. The doctor...” She hesitated.
André lost his color and went still. “Are you sick? Gaby? Something more than the flu that’s making the rounds?” He grasped her wrists.
She stared directly into his eyes. “I’m pregnant, André.” She attempted a shrug, but he held her too tightly. “My fault, because I didn’t check the calendar. Typical of my bad luck with relationships,” she lamented. “It happened the, um, night of the Bacchus ball, I figure.”
“Bad luck?” he breathed, running his fingers lightly over her lips, her cheeks, her eyelids. “I love you, Gabrielle. You love me. We’re going to have a baby. A sister or brother for Leslie. This is only a building. It can be rebuilt. We’ve been given a far greater gift. Come on.” He tugged at her hands. “We’re leaving together. It’s past midnight, so the place will be clear. We’ll find a pay phone.”
She tucked her head into the crook of his arm as he herded her out the door. “I parked in the next block. I still have Paul’s car,” she reminded him. “It’s equipped with his reporter’s mobile unit. A dinosaur, but it works. I used it to check on Leslie.” Not wanting her to run, André scooped her into his arms and hurried for the stairs. “No elevators,” he said. “They may be booby-trapped.” He didn’t speak again until they were well away from the dark, empty building.
Things happened fast once they called the police. A bomb unit arrived on the scene in less than ten minutes. André and Gaby sketched hasty maps of all the floors. Then they huddled together and waited while men in asbestos suits entered the lobby. Any minute they expected the building to blow apart and set the skyline ablaze.
In a surprisingly short time the team returned. “We found it,” announced the captain. “At least, we found a device attached to the receptionist’s phone. Can you think of anyone who’d want to make you the butt of a hoax? Your so-called bomb is an elaborate dud.
“A phony. It has no guts,” the man explained when Gaby and André both regarded him blankly.
“Lyon Broadcasting is family-owned,” André said, pinning Gaby to his side. “We’ve undergone some...internal discord. Headline-breaking news is only part of what a TV station’s about. It also has to do with attracting and keeping advertisers. The station’s twenty-fifth-anniversary celebration is Saturday. Ad clients would jump ship in droves if news of a bomb threat leaked out. And once it was proved a hoax, we’d be a laughingstock in the industry. This is asking a lot, Captain, but can we keep it quiet, at least until next week?”
“It’s unusual.” He turned to his crew. “I’ll do my best,” he said after they all shrugged. “Of course, there’s nothing I can do if one of your staff is behind the hoax.”
“Oh,” André said with a grin, “I plan to leak some news that’ll give them a little more to worry about. The heir to the controlling interest in Lyon Broadcasting is going to elope—if the lady is willing.”
Gaby let out her breath as André dropped a kiss on her nose. “Elope? When?” she gasped.
“Right now. Tonight.” He tugged on a loose strand of her hair.
“At this hour?”
“I know a priest in Bayou Sans Fin who doesn’t run on a regular clock. All you have to do is say yes.”
“Yes!”
The police captain and his men slapped André on the back.
“Wait.” Gaby stopped the gaiety. “This priest. He’s legitimate?”
André gathered her icy hands. “His cathedral is a cypress, but I guarantee the vows we exchange will be binding and sacred. If you don’t want to be Mrs. André Lyon from this night until eternity, speak up now.”
“I do want, André,” she whispered. “It took the fear of losing you to make me see I’ve never wanted anything more.”
His smile, for her alone, promised his love in return. “We’ll leave my car here and take Papa’s. His mobile phone will come in handy to disperse our news.”
“No REGRETS?” he asked a few hours later when they left the darkness of Bayou Sans Fin to return to the neon lights of the city.
Gabrielle’s smile lit up the interior of the old Cadillac. “None whatsoever.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SURFACING LATER THAN USUAL the next morning, André and Gaby ambled hand in hand down the winding stairs from his suite, where they’d fallen into bed after releasing news of their elopement, first to WDIX, then to competitors. They had yet to tell members of the household.
“What’s the shouting coming from Paul’s study?” Gabrielle eased away from André, who’d paused on the middle landing after stealing another kiss.
Paul’s study door banged open. Alain Lyon backed out, thrusting papers into a brown briefcase. The minute he caught sight of Gabrielle coming down the stairs, he stood still. Glowering, he snagged her arm and spun her around.
“You think your sudden marriage to André solidifies your power at WDIX? Ha! Go ask Uncle Paul if you married a Lyon. He says he knew there’s no official parish birth record. Well, I don’t accept what’s written in the family Bible. My dad swears it’s bloody unlikely his brother knew Margaret was pregnant when she went off to college.” He waved a paper under Gaby’s nose. She didn’t look, but tried to loosen his grasp so she could go into the now-silent study.
André plunged down the last two steps and ripped Alain’s hands off Gabrielle. “Nobody speaks to my wife that way! And I’m damned sure—”
A loud thud from the study halted their argument. As Gaby was nearer, she ran into the room. Her distressed cry floated into the hall. “Oh, André! Come quick.”
Alain jerked out of André’s hold. “If Uncle Paul collapsed, you’ve got no one but your own dear mama to blame. For trying to pass off her bastard as a Lyon for so many years. My dad settled for crumbs from Uncle Paul. Not me. I intend to get what’s due me...u
s.”
Margaret, LuAnn and Claire Harris burst out of the kitchen, confused by all the shouting. “André? Alain? Have you two taken leave of your senses?” Margaret pressed a hand to her mouth.
“Get out,” André snarled at his cousin. “Before I forget this is Mama’s home and not mine. If it were mine, I’d spill some of your Lyon blood across the foyer.”
Gabrielle, white-faced, a phone to her ear, appeared in the study doorway. She motioned frantically to Margaret and André. “Paul. I think it’s his heart. I’ve called for an ambulance.”
As Alain departed in haste, they heard sirens closing in.
In a surprisingly short time the ambulance crew swarmed around the prostrate man. Paul’s heart was still beating, though weakly.
“His chance of recovery depends on how quickly we can get him to emergency,” advised the attendant strapping Paul to a gurney.
André drove his mother and Gabrielle to the hospital, arriving minutes after the ambulance.
SEVERAL TERRIFYING HOURS later, the family huddled together in a bleak waiting room. Gabrielle clung to Margaret’s hand. “I should go make some calls canceling the gala. The guest list is at the office. André can phone me there if there’s any change.”
Margaret rallied, employing the take-charge voice they all knew so well. “We will not cancel the celebration. When I spoke with Paul, he said you and André must carry on the work we started. This is the dawning of a new era at WDIX.”
André knelt beside her chair and said brokenly, “Mother, Alain claims he has proof I’m not a Lyon.”
“Nonsense.” Margaret’s eyes turned flinty, her voice chilly. “Alain’s always been jealous of you, André.”
“The jealousy created by Grandpère’s will has gone beyond petty family squabbling.” André hadn’t wanted to worry his mother with the bomb hoax. Now he felt compelled. He ended by saying, “I think we should sell the station if you still have a viable buyer. I can’t—won’t work with Alain another day. Evidently he thinks that if the business can’t be split equally between his family and mine, then no Lyon should head WDIX.”
“Alain’s not solely to blame for Paul’s condition. But I will speak with Charles. If he can’t control his son, Alain will have to work elsewhere. The position of manager is yours by right of blood. André—” she gazed directly into his eyes “—never doubt that you are a Lyon. Tell everyone that the world-renowned heart surgeon, Michael DeBakey, has been consulted. He recommends an innovative procedure called a coronary bypass and they’ll perform it here later today. It’s experimental, but Michael is confident it will help Paul. Please, André, do as I ask. The staff at WDIX are like family. I can imagine how unsettled they must feel. You are Paul’s son. Hold your head high tomorrow night. As I said, I’ll speak to Charles, but whatever happens, don’t let him or anyone undermine our family pride.”
“All right.” Standing, André dropped a kiss on her hair. “We’ll leave you, then. Gaby and I haven’t told Leslie and Rachel we’re married. We’d hate for them to first hear the news on TV. We’ll be back for the procedure this afternoon.”
Margaret gripped both of their hands. “I’m so happy for you. But I’m saddened that you didn’t take time for a proper wedding.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “I still have my mother’s wedding gown. I’d planned to wear it, then Paul and I eloped. I’d hoped Gabrielle...” She released their hands and dabbed at her eyes. “There’s still Leslie of course. And maybe your new baby will be a girl.”
Gabrielle’s breath caught and she reached for her husband, who slid a supportive arm around her waist. “Margaret...how did you know?”
“Rachel told me she heard you vomiting almost every morning a while back. Please assure that dear child you aren’t dying.”
“We will, Mama,” André said as he kissed her damp cheek. “If I can cut through the red tape, Gaby and I are going to try to adopt Rachel. I don’t want her mother to ever take her away from Lyoncrest.”
“Raising a family will bring you the greatest happiness of your life.” Margaret smiled broadly, in spite of the solemnity of the surroundings.
“Speaking of family,” Gaby said, “We also need to assure the girls and everyone at home that everything possible is being done for Paul. And if the surgery goes well, we’ll all feel better about proceeding with the gala.”
AT THE ANNIVERSARY GALA on Saturday night, Gaby sought out André and pulled him aside. “I heard Charles say we should call this a wake,” she whispered. “It feels like it, all right. All Alain does is glare daggers at me, as if it’s my fault he’s been exiled to manage Chez Charles. Shall I tell him that decision is between Margaret and his father?”
“No. That’s for Uncle Charles to tell him. But I’d hate to see Alain’s moodiness infect everyone else. It’s time we kicked some life into this party, Mrs. Lyon. Come with me to the podium.” Taking her hand, André led her through a tense crowd of employees, who stood in tight groups as if waiting for bad news.
“May I have your attention, everyone?” André picked up a microphone. The auditorium fell silent.
In a conversational tone, André laid out the information his mother had requested. The news, especially that concerning Paul Lyon’s experimental operation, still met with a ripple of unease. André sensed that people were concerned for their jobs under his leadership. And he knew they were worried about Paul, who was well loved by the staff.
“Gabrielle and I have some personal news, too.” André held up a staying hand. “Monday, I’m filing papers to adopt her daughter, Leslie. In addition, we’ll petition the court to let us keep permanently a thirteen-year-old named Rachel Fontaine. As a family, we’ll continue to live at Lyoncrest. Our pledge,” he said, smiling into his new wife’s eyes, “is to carry on with this business in the tradition set by my parents. Your jobs are secure. Nothing will change.” He spoke over the applause to add, “Oh—make that nothing except that Alain Lyon has elected to take over management of Chez Charles, his parents’ restaurant.”
Clapping swelled to a crescendo.
“That’s not all.” André cleared his throat and drew Gabrielle into the curve of his body. Throwing Alain a faint smile, he said, “My lovely wife and I want you to be first to know there’ll be a new branch on the Lyon family tree later this year. We’re expecting a baby,” he said, the pride in his voice unmistakable.
Pandemonium erupted. Cheers went up, along with a huge release of pink, white and blue balloons, exactly as André had prearranged. Champagne corks popped at the tables—a call to relax and party. Laissez le bontemps rouler. Let the good times roll.
Alain and his parents shoved through the jovial crowd on their way to the door. André and Gabrielle were too busy being toasted and accepting pledges of support to really notice their absence. For the remainder of the evening, the employees of Lyon Broadcasting sidled up and assured the happy couple that the next twenty-five years would be even better than the last.
André kept his thoughts to himself. In spite of what his mother had said, he sensed she was keeping secrets. He believed he was a Lyon and yet...
Six MONTHS AFTER THE GALA, Paul was clearly on the mend. All the indications were that André and Gaby’s union had strengthened the business—even though Gaby now left work on time every night.
Family dinners had resumed. Life at Lyoncrest was finally as André had once dreamed it could be. His children’s excited chatter echoed in every room.
In January, on the eve following six-week-old Charlotte Hollander Lyon’s christening, Gabrielle walked the bedroom floor with the baby in her arms, attempting to soothe her into sleep. “I’m glad Charles and Catherine came to Charlotte’s service, aren’t you, André? It meant a lot to your parents.”
“Yes. Although I was prepared for a confrontation.”
“Why? Jason’s finally getting into the swing of sales. His mother says he’s met a nice girl. Maybe marriage will mellow him even more.”
“It’s possible
.” André counted the baby’s fingers curled over his thumb.
“André, do you believe Alain was guilty of everything that happened at the office last year?”
“Put it this way.” André shrugged as he kept pace. “It’s stopped. Alain merely laughed when I confronted him about planting the phony bomb. He swore I’d get my comeuppance one day.” André grimaced. “He doesn’t hide the fact that he thinks the job of general manager should be his because he’s Alexandre’s eldest—and as he says—true grandson.”
“He’s blowing smoke, André. Today Margaret pasted Charlotte’s baby picture in the Lyon family album.” Gaby studied their child. “She has the Lyon nose. Like yours and Paul’s. I don’t understand how anyone could doubt that you’re all related.” Reaching up, she ran a hand through André’s hair. “The resemblance is more noticeable since you got a haircut.”
André frowned into her upturned face. “I’ve been wondering if Uncle Charles was in love with my mother,” he murmured. “And that he resented it when Papa came back into our lives. You know,” he said speculatively, “maybe it didn’t break his heart so much as hurt his pride. Maybe that caused the original rift in our family.”
Gabrielle kissed the top of Charlotte’s silky hair, then raised her lips to André. When he’d kissed her, she sighed. “Quit guessing, André. You and Alain should stop rooting around in the past. Both of you. You said yourself once that no good will come of it.”
André looked fierce as he lifted the sleeping baby from Gaby’s arms. “Tell that to my cousin. On second thought—stay away from him. I don’t trust Alain.” Tiptoeing across the room, he placed the baby in the family cradle and tucked a blanket Rachel had knit around the sleeping infant.
Gaby motioned him to back away. “Alain will be consumed by his own marital problems for a while,” she whispered. “I hope Yvette has a good lawyer. I hear Alain ended up with custody of Devin and the other kids. That’s odd, don’t you think?”
The Lyon Legacy Page 21
