“You don’t like the market?” I inquired.
“It’s fascinating,” he said dryly.
I smiled, leading him to the open-air café. We took a table beneath a big umbrella, and Robert sat me down and went to fetch our food from the stalls that encircled the area. The handsome, distinguished middle-aged man in his elegant attire looked completely out of place as he returned with pork rinds wrapped in grease-spotted paper. He brought oyster loaves as well, two cups of gumbo and glasses of iced lemonade. I ate with great relish. Robert tried one pork rind and made a face, poked at his oyster loaf with a fork, looked at his gumbo with a decided lack of enthusiasm.
“Poor dear,” I said. “You’re not enjoying yourself at all.”
“On the contrary, I’m enjoying myself immensely.”
“You’d rather be in a fancy restaurant with haughty waiters hovering about offering plates of hors d’oeuvres and pouring expensive wines into fine crystal glasses.”
“Perhaps,” he admitted, “but being with you is pleasure enough. Are you really going to eat the rest of those disgusting things?”
“They’re delicious,” I protested, reaching for another pork rind.
He shook his head, the faint half smile curling on his lips again. There were a number of women at the other tables, and I noticed several of them looking at Robert with interest, even longing. Middle-aged he might be, but he was in marvelous shape, his trim, superbly muscled body that of a much younger man. Sunlight burnished his dark auburn hair, gilding it with deep coppery red highlights, and his wise smoke-gray eyes were full of secrets, touched with sadness as well. No randy, hot-blooded youth, he had the strength, the authority, the maturity that many women found vastly appealing. He would always be in control of any situation, always in command. In the bedroom, too, I thought. I sensed incredible drive and energy behind that carefully maintained facade, great sensuality, too. I studied his strong hands, the palms wide, the fingers long and sinewy, those of his left hand curled tightly around his glass of lemonade. He would be very masterful in bed, I suspected, very demanding, but generous, too, giving as he took. I felt a blush tinting my cheeks as these thoughts materialized.
“Something wrong?” he inquired.
“Just—it’s a little sunny.”
Robert stood up and adjusted the umbrella so that I had more shade. As he sat back down, I sighed. Yes, I was attracted to him, I couldn’t deny that. He was an extremely attractive man, his wealth and power adding an extra fillip of allure, but the feelings he aroused in me weren’t primarily sexual. I felt secure with him, felt safe and warm and protected, and there was a closeness that had been there from the first, as though we really had known each other in some other lifetime. Even before we met, when I had been standing at the railing of the steamboat and he on the dock below and our eyes had met and held, there had been the feeling of our being bound together somehow. Mama Lou might have been able to explain it. I certainly couldn’t.
“Have you decided what you are going to do this summer?” he asked.
“Not yet,” I said. “After we finish our week here, the company will separate until September. Ollie is staying here in New Orleans with an old friend who used to be in the company, and Billy is going to vacation at the plantation of one of his belles—he’s already met her family, they adore him, I fear he’s finally hooked. Bartholomew and Theodore are going to visit an aunt in Cincinnati. I don’t know what Laura and Michael are going to do, but whatever it is, they’ll be doing it together.”
“And Donovan?”
“Jason’s going back to Atlanta. He plans to spend the entire summer working on his new play. He’s almost finished writing it, the National is offering him tremendous terms, and he’d like to get the entire production mounted during our hiatus—sets built, costumes designed, all the details worked out. Dulcie and Jackson will be in Atlanta, too. It—they’ll be incredibly busy and it’ll be incredibly frantic and nerve wracking and—” I hesitated, looking down at my empty glass.
“You don’t want to go with him?”
“Jason and I—we’re very close, and it isn’t that I don’t want to be with him, it’s just—for the past two years there’s been nothing but theater. The noise, the confusion, the tension. I love being in the theater and I love acting, but I—I need a little rest. I’d like to laze in the sunshine someplace quiet, read all the novels I wanted to read, wake up in the morning with no rehearsals and no responsibility, nothing whatsoever I had to do and no one I had to see.”
“I quite understand.”
“Do—do you think I’m being terribly selfish?”
“Everyone needs to replenish the wells now and then.”
“That’s it exactly,” I said quietly. “I—the past months have been wonderful and I’m very grateful for all the success, but I—every night onstage I’ve poured myself out, given my all, and I feel exhausted. I feel emptied. I do need to replenish the wells. Jason doesn’t understand that. He thinks I’m being very unreasonable.”
I looked at him, and we were both silent for a few moments, then he got up and went to fetch more lemonade. I watched him moving among the tables, going over to the stall, calm, confident, a splendid male who was well past youth but still in his prime. How easy it was to talk to him. How I enjoyed being with him. I smiled as he returned with the drinks. It was even sultrier now, heat waves shimmering visibly in the air, but although I could feel tiny droplets of perspiration sliding down my spine, Robert looked cool and fresh. He handed me my glass of lemonade and sat down. He took a sip of his lemonade, gazed at the glass for a moment and then, as though reaching a decision, set it aside, looking at me with level gray eyes.
“You could come to Natchez,” he said.
“Natchez?”
“I have a house there. Belle Mead. It’s just outside town, surrounded by oaks and gardens, with a river walk. It’s very quiet. You could laze in the sunshine all you liked. You could read all the novels you wanted to read. I have a full staff of servants who would take very good care of you.”
“It—it sounds lovely,” I said, taken aback by the invitation, “but I really don’t think—”
Robert smiled. “I shall be away on business most of the summer, Dana, and I can assure you that during the time I was in residence, I wouldn’t infringe on your solitude. You wouldn’t even have to see me if you didn’t want to. Everything would be quite proper.…” The smile flickered. “I could even bring in a respectable lady chaperone if it would make you feel easier.”
“I’m sure that wouldn’t be necessary,” I told him.
“This isn’t—I’m not making an immoral proposal, Dana.”
“I realize that.”
“If you would like a place to rest, relax and replenish your wells, Belle Mead is open to you. It’s said to be one of the finest homes in the South. I wouldn’t know about that, but I’m very proud of it. I only wish I could spend more time there.”
He said no more, and we left the market a short while later. I appreciated his invitation and thought it very kind of him to make it, although I couldn’t possibly accept it. It would be lovely to spend the summer at Belle Mead, to laze in the gardens and saunter along the river walk, but, under the circumstances, it was entirely out of the question. I stole a look at him as we rode slowly back toward the hotel. Robert Courtland had his own integrity. He knew I was involved with another man, and he would make no overt advances as long as I was committed to Jason, but … he was definitely in love with me. I suspected that Laura was right. Robert was merely biding his time, waiting for my tempestuous relationship with Jason to end. When he made his move, it would be major, but in the meantime he made do with our unusual friendship.
We drove by a gray stone wall ablaze with red and purple bougainvillea, an old gray stone church visible beyond the wall. A group of nuns made their solemn way through the wrought iron archway, arms folded, heads bowed. Further on there was an ancient convent, shaded by huge pecan trees, and then
we were passing the shops again. New Orleans had its well-remembered aura of indolent old world charm, perfumed by the fragrance of a million blossoms. Robert seemed to be in a reflective mood, sitting close beside me, silent, smoke-gray eyes serious as he contemplated private matters.
“It was a lovely lunch,” I told him. “Thank you very much.”
Dismissing his grave thoughts, he gave me a warm smile. “I only hope you don’t grow ill from those wretched pork rinds.”
“They were wonderful. I could eat them every day.”
“Every day?”
“Well, at least once a week.”
“You’re a remarkable creature,” he said fondly. “You know, I really know very little about you. Only what I read in the papers. I suspect much of that is fanciful fabrication.”
“All of it,” I assured him.
“You obviously know New Orleans, but—we have never discussed your background. I know nothing about your childhood, your education, who your parents were, where you were brought up.”
“It isn’t—it isn’t very interesting,” I said hesitantly. “It isn’t very pretty, either. I was raised poor, dirt-poor, and—”
Robert sensed my discomfort. He squeezed my arm.
“It’s not important,” he said firmly. “Where you come from doesn’t matter. It’s what you are that counts, and you’re an intelligent, charming, very gifted young woman.”
“You’re terribly gallant,” I told him.
“Just truthful. Did I say lovely, too? You’re quite the loveliest woman I’ve ever known, but I’m sure many men have told you that.”
“Never so sincerely. I—I don’t really know anything about you, either. You mentioned earlier that—that you had no family. None at all?”
“My parents died when I was seven years old. I was put into an orphanage, broke out at fourteen to make my own way. Make it I did, with a lot of colorful misadventures along the way. I’m afraid I wasn’t quite respectable when I was younger. It was only with maturity—and financial success—that I became the solid citizen you see now.”
“What about women?” I inquired.
“I’ve always adored them.”
“There’ve been many?”
“Many,” he confessed.
“But none you cared to marry?”
“There was one …” His gray eyes turned dark, and I saw the sadness again. “There was one I should have married,” he said, and his voice was flat, carefully controlled. “Through my own foolishness I—lost her. I was very young, but I should never have—”
We were nearing the hotel. Robert said nothing more until we had stopped in front of the elaborate portico. Fashionably dressed couples were strolling up and down the esplanade. The doorman held the door open as a plump woman in purple taffeta stepped out, a fluffy gray poodle in her arms. Lost in reverie, Robert made no effort to alight. After a moment he looked at me and shook his head.
“Sorry,” he apologized.
“You must have loved her very much,” I said.
“I did. I think I did. As I said, I was very young. There have been many other women in my life since then, but somehow they all fell short. None of them ever meant as much to me, until—”
He cut himself short. Until I met you, he had meant to say. I could see it in his eyes. He didn’t say it. Instead, he alighted from the carriage and helped me down and led me to the door, waving the doorman aside. He was staying at the Fontaine, too, but he obviously didn’t plan to come inside just now. He took both my hands in his, squeezing them tightly.
“I have some business to attend to at the bank,” he told me. “I won’t see you again until after the performance tonight. I know you’re going to be brilliant.”
“I—I’m a little nervous. I always am.”
“They’re going to love you,” he promised. “I—uh—wonder if you would care to have a late supper with me after the show?”
“I’d love to, Robert, but—I’m not sure.”
“I understand,” he said. He released my hands.
“I’ll let you know after the performance. Is—is that all right?”
“Fine. It’s after three. You’d better get some rest. I’ve enjoyed this afternoon more than I could possibly say.”
He took my hands and squeezed them again, then went back to the carriage. I passed the plant-filled lobby and went upstairs, not to my own suite but to Jason’s. He had been extremely moody lately, immersed in the new play, testy and snappish, and if he had checked on me and found me gone, he would be testier still. Already nervous and not wanting an argument before the opening tonight, I decided to take the initiative and do some soothing before an explosion occurred. I needn’t have bothered. His suite was empty. The sitting room was in deplorable condition, the large worktable he had requested strewn with papers and books and empty coffee cups, crumpled-up wads of paper littering the floor where he had missed the wastebasket. A bottle of ink had been spilled on the carpet—that was going to delight the management—and several cushions had been dumped off the sofa, as though hurled there in anger. Jason was going to have to leave the housekeeper a very big tip.
Walking over to the table, I saw amidst the mess one neat stack of pages, a heavy paperweight on top. The stack was rather high. I wondered if he had finally finished the last act. I had read the first two, and they were quite powerful. Lady Caroline, which he had fashioned especially for me, was based on one of the greatest scandals of the age, Lord Byron’s affair with the gorgeous, seductive and very married Lady Caroline Lamb, a neurotic blonde who literally threw herself at the feet of the handsome, amoral poet and declared him “Mad, bad and dangerous to know.” Jason had taken the existing facts and woven them into a rich, dramatic tapestry full of high color and heated emotions. When society discovered that Lord Byron was also having an affair with his own half sister, he hastily fled England, leaving Lady Caroline to shatter a champagne glass and slash her wrists, splattering blood all over her sumptuous satin gown.
Incest, adultery, great wealth, glamour, Lady Caroline had all the ingredients. With Michael as Lord Byron, it was certain to create a sensation and be every bit as controversial as The Quadroon, dealing as it did with the tempestuous private lives of celebrated figures of an age just past. Caroline Lamb was a marvelous role but one even more emotionally demanding than Janine. Before I immersed myself in it, I needed a long rest, and that was something Jason couldn’t, wouldn’t understand. As wonderful as our success had been, The Quadroon had drained me. I wasn’t “artistic” or even particularly temperamental, merely a hard working actress, but after working so very hard for so long, my nerves needed a respite.
Back in my own suite, I set down my reticule and pulled off my long white gloves, thinking of the man whose life I shared. I had decided to have a bonbon and had had no intention of becoming deeply involved, but Jason had become much more than a bonbon. I still kept him at arm’s length, still refused to let him know just how much I cared—this for my own protection—but care for him I did. Deeply. We might fight like two alley cats, we might disagree constantly, but he still made my heart sing. He was as endearing as he was exasperating, and in the bedroom he was a superbly masterful and satisfying lover. He was mercurial, volatile, a bully, but I was still lucky to have him. I was wise enough never to let him suspect I felt that way.
There was a knock at the door. I stood up. The door opened. Jason came in, his hair all atumble, his expression grim, his green-gray eyes full of silent accusation. He kicked the door shut behind him and stood there, looking at me, clearly spoiling for a fight. I felt my dander rise. He looked wonderfully appealing in his black broadcloth breeches and frock coat, his green and white striped satin vest and white silk neckcloth, but at the moment I was immune to that appeal. I longed for him to pull me into his arms, to hold me tight and tell me everything was going to be fine tonight, give me the reassurance I so badly needed, but I could see that wasn’t going to happen. He continued to look at me with accus
ing eyes, and my dander rose even more.
“I know you didn’t get out of bed on the wrong side this morning,” I observed. “I recall the occasion distinctly. You woke me up, grumbling because you had to get back to your own suite before the maid appeared. Something is obviously bothering you.”
“Where have you been?” he demanded.
“For the past two and a half hours I’ve been right here.”
“I came down at three. I had something to tell you, something important. You weren’t here. No one knew where you were. I thought maybe you’d gone to the theater early. I went there. No one had seen you. I thought maybe you’d gone to see Corey. I went to the little house she and Adam have near the Jewel. They hadn’t seen you either. By that time I was frantic.”
“I’m a grown woman, Jason. I’m perfectly capable of going out on my own without answering to anyone.”
“Where were you?”
“Out,” I said stubbornly.
“You don’t intend to tell me?”
“It’s none of your bloody business, and I don’t like your attitude. You’re not my keeper, Jason. I—we’ve both been under a lot of strain recently, and I’m rather tense about tonight. I’m really in no mood for one of your petulant tirades right now. If you don’t have something pleasant to say, please get the hell out of here.”
“You—you’re telling me to get out?” He was appalled.
“If you don’t have something pleasant to say, yes.”
“Just because you’re a big star now, just because you’ve received a bunch of paltry offers from other managers, you think—you think—”
“Jason, my dear, I really don’t want to fight just now.”
They Call Her Dana Page 52
