All That Glitters l-3

by V. C. Andrews

  "I don't see why we can't have both," I suggested. "Let's have an orchestra for the dinner reception and then afterward, bring in a zydeco band or one of those rock bands and let the younger people have their fun, too."

  "That's a ridiculous waste of money," Gladys said.

  "Money is the least of our worries, Mother," Paul said gently. She fixed her eyes of fire on me for a moment and then gave a little shudder of disgust.

  "If you and your father don't care how you throw your money into the swamp, I don't care," she quipped.

  "It won't be that much more," Octavious said softly, but Gladys only pressed her lips more firmly together and glared at me. I was happy when these meetings finally came to an end.

  Time passed more quickly for me now that I was heavily involved in my series of paintings. I couldn't wait for the day to begin, and some days I got so lost in my work, the sun had started to go down before I realized I had forgotten lunch and it was time to get ready for dinner. I regretted neglecting Pearl, but Mrs. Flemming was more than an adequate nanny. She was really part of the family and took wonderful, loving care of her.

  As for Paul, he didn't come into my room at night again, nor did either of us mention the night he had. It soon began to feel like something I had only really dreamed. With the planning of the wedding ceremony, with the satisfaction I was having painting, life at Cypress Woods continued to be fulfilling and exciting. It seemed a day didn't pass without Paul announcing some grand new purchase or development.

  One evening after one of our family dinners, I found myself alone with Gladys on the patio having an after-dinner cordial. Paul and his father were still in the house talking, and his sisters had gone to meet some friends. At dinner Octavious revealed he and Gladys had political ambitions for Paul. When I questioned it on the patio, Gladys widened her eyes with surprise.

  "People in high places are getting to know about the Tates," she said. "Legislators are already courting Paul. He has all the qualities that could make him governor someday, if he wants."

  "Do you think he wants that?" I asked, surprised.

  "Why not?" Gladys said. "Of course, he won't do anything if you don't want him to do it," she said with disgust.

  "I wouldn't stand in Paul's way if he really wanted something," I said. "I just wonder if it's what he wants or what you want."

  "Of course it's what he wants," she fired back. Then she smiled coldly. "What's the matter, can't you see yourself as the first lady of Louisiana? We've got no reason to feel inferior to anyone. Don't you forget it," she added.

  Before I could reply, Paul and his father came out and Gladys complained about a headache and asked Octavious to take her home. Nevertheless, I had to smile to myself imagining how my sister would react to such a possibility: me, the first lady of Louisiana? Gisselle would burst with envy.

  It had been some time since Gisselle's visit, and I always felt as if a second shoe was going to drop. It came in the form of a postcard she sent to me from France. There was a picture of the Eiffel Tower on the front. I didn't know it then, but I was going to receive one, even two, a week from my darling twin sister, each like a pin stuck into a voodoo doll, each describing the fun she was having with Beau in Paris. "Chère Ruby," the first one began . . .

  I finally got here and guess who was at the airport waiting for me . . . Beau. You wouldn't recognize him. He has this thin mustache and looks like Rhett Butler in Gone With the Wind. He speaks French fluently. He was so happy to see me. He even brought flowers! He is going to show me around Paris, the first sight beginning with his apartment on the Champs-Elysées.

  Give my love and kisses to Paul. I'm about to tell Beau all about Pearl.

  Amour, Gisselle

  The tears that filled my eyes after reading one of Gisselle's postcards from France lingered for hours, clouding my vision, making drawing and painting difficult, if not impossible. It got so I regretted sorting through the mail and finding one of those picture cards. She would describe the nightclubs they frequented, the cafes, the fine restaurants. With each postcard, the suggestion that more was going on between her and Beau than simply the reunion of school friends grew stronger and stronger.

  "Today Beau told me that I have really matured," she wrote. "He said whatever differences there were between you and me have diminished. Isn't that sweet?"

  She described the jewelry he bought her and the way they held hands when they walked and talked softly at the banks of the Seine in the evening after one of their wonderful dinners at some romantic café. Always, other lovers walking nearby looked at them enviously.

  "I know Beau thinks he can have you by having me and I should be annoyed, but then I think, why not use his love for you to win him back? It's fun."

  On the next card, however, she wrote:

  "I think I can say with some certainty now that Beau is falling in love with me, not just because I look like you, but because . . . it's me! Isn't that nice?"

  A week later she wrote specifically to tell me that Beau no longer asked her questions about me.

  He has finally accepted that you are married and gone from his life. But of course, that means nothing now. He has a lot more to look forward to with me at his side again.

  Toujours amour,

  Your sister Gisselle

  I never showed Paul any of these postcards. After reading them, despite my reluctance to read them, I tore them up and threw them away. It always took me hours to recover.

  But as the date of Jeanne's wedding grew closer, I had much to occupy my mind anyway. Three hundred guests had been invited. People were coming from as far away as New York and California. Anyone who was important to the cannery and the oil businesses, of course, as well as friends and relatives, was invited.

  We had a beautiful day for the wedding. It was warm with bearable humidity and a sky of deep blue with clouds that looked scrubbed clean. Cypress Woods was buzzing with activity from the crack of dawn. I felt like I was queen of the anthill; there were that many people scurrying about, arranging this and that.

  Father Rush and the choir arrived early. Most people had not seen Cypress Woods and were very impressed. Paul was beaming with pride and happiness. We all got dressed and began greeting the guests, many of whom arrived in limousines. Before long, our long driveway was lined with automobiles and drivers. The men were dressed in tuxedos, and the women wore gowns of every fashionable design. I thought we might all go blind from the glitter of diamonds and gold in the midday sun.

  I gave Jeanne my bedroom suite to use, and Paul gave James his. Of course, the traditions were observed and James did not see his bride until she emerged from the French doors to the patio at the start of "Here Comes the Bride." Before the actual wedding ceremony, Father Rush conducted a service and the choir sang hymns. Under the flower-laden canopy, Jeanne and James took their vows.

  How different this ceremony was from mine, I thought sadly. They could take their oaths in the light of day in front of hundreds of people without shame, without fear, without guilt. When they turned and were showered with rice, their faces were full of smiles of anticipation, happiness, and delight. If there were any fears in their hearts, they were well subdued, buried under the weight of great love.

  I was filled with a heavy sadness and lowered my eyes. Had this most wonderful part of a woman's life been denied to me or had I denied it to myself? What dark threads of evil had woven their fabric in the bayou and cast it over my destiny?

  This was not the time to be melancholy, however. The music started, the waiters and waitresses circulated with their trays of hors d'oeuvres, and the dancing began. We had to gather for family pictures, and my face had to shine with smiles. Only Paul, who had this second sense about me, gazed at me and saw the undercurrent of sadness that ran just below my laughter and grins. Later, when the feast began and the music continued, he and I danced and he brought his lips to my ear to whisper.

  "I know what you're thinking," he said. "You wish you had had a we
dding like this. I'm sorry."

  "It's not your fault. You have no reason to apologize."

  "We'll make a wonderful wedding for Pearl," he promised. He kissed me on the cheek and then the music became livelier and we were all doing the Cajun two-step.

  The feasting and celebrating went on into the evening, long after Jeanne and James left for their honeymoon. Just before they went to their car, covered with JUST MARRIED signs and cans tied to the back bumper, Jeanne pulled me aside.

  "I don't know how to thank you enough, Ruby. You made my wedding wonderful with all of your suggestions and work. But most importantly, with your advice and concern. You are really my sister now," she said, and hugged me.

  "Be happy," I said, smiling through my joyful tears. She hurried off to join her impatient new husband.

  Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, the last few guests left and the crews of workers completed the cleanup work. Exhausted, I went up to my suite and undressed to collapse in bed. Shortly after I had put out my lights, I heard Paul open the adjoining door. I opened my eyes just enough to see him standing there, silhouetted in his lamplight.

  "Ruby?" he whispered. "Are you asleep?"

  When I didn't reply, he sighed deeply.

  "I wish," he said, "we had had a honeymoon, too. I wish I could love you freely and wholly."

  He stood there a moment longer and then he closed the door softly and I shut my eyes before a single tear could find its way to the edge of my lids. Sleep, the best consoler of all, came mercifully quickly and shut away the voices and the regrets.

  Two days later I received what was to be my final picture postcard from Gisselle. It had actually arrived after she and Beau had already returned from Paris. She told me about their plans. Beau was returning to New Orleans to attend medical school, and she was going to attend college. Despite her horrible school records, Daphne had somehow arranged it. She promised, or I should rather say, threatened, to come visit me again. Maybe . . . with Beau.

  The very thought of such a visit made me tremble. I couldn't imagine what my first words would be to him if he should ever drive up to Cypress Woods. Of course, I would bring Pearl to him quickly. She was walking now and saying quite a few words. She loved to sit on Mrs. Flemming's lap at the piano and tap the keys. Everyone who heard her said she was musically inclined.

  I had completed four of the pictures for my Confederate Romance series. Paul wanted me to show them in a gallery in New Orleans, but I was not yet ready to part with them and actually feared someone buying them. Meanwhile I continued to do landscapes of the bayou and those were sent regularly to Dominique's gallery, the first gallery that had shown and sold my early works.

  We learned that they were selling quickly. I no sooner had one completed and there than it was bought. Paul was delighted and had some art critic visit me to discuss my works, take pictures of my studio and of me. A few months later, the photo spread appeared in an art magazine and then in the New Orleans Times. That publicity brought a new letter from Gisselle.

  . . . Daphne nearly dropped her coffee cup in her lap when she opened the paper and saw your picture. Bruce was very impressed. I don't know what Beau thought. I didn't mention it to him and he didn't mention it to me. We see each other nearly every day. I think he's on the verge of offering me a ring. You'll be the first to know. It may happen a week from today because we're all going to the horse ranch and Daphne has invited Beau, too.

  Anyway, we've only got six months to go and then we inherit our fortunes. It doesn't mean all that much to you now that you are filthy rich through marriage, I know, but having control of my own money will mean a great deal to me. And to Beau.

  Anyway, I suppose I should say congratulations.

  So, congratulations. Why is it you were born with a talent and I wasn't if we're twins?

  Gisselle

  I didn't write back, for I had no answer. If she had no talent at birth, she had no curse on her either. Was it just a chance thing that she had been born first and delivered to the Dumas, and I was to remain behind and be the one who would learn all about our troubled past? I felt like throwing that in her face, but then I thought about Grandmère Catherine and how precious she had been to me. What if I had been the firstborn? I would never have known her.

  Does everything good have to come with something bad attached? I wondered. Is the world a balance between good and evil? Why weren't there more angels than devils? Nina Jackson used to tell me there were far more devils and that was why we needed all the powders and the chants, the bones and good-luck charms. Even Grandmère Catherine gazed into the darkness with the belief that evil lurked within every shadow and she had to be vigilant and prepared to do battle. Was that my fate, too . . . to always do battle?

  I hated when I fell into these despondent moods, but that was what Gisselle's letters and cards always did to me. But nothing she had written or would write would compare to the phone call I received from her a week later.

  Paul and I were just finishing dinner. Mrs. Flemming had fed Pearl and taken her to the den to play with her toys. Molly poured us coffee and went into the kitchen to bring out the strawberry shortcake Letty had made. We were both complaining about the weight we had gained since we had moved into Cypress Woods and had Letty prepare our meals, but neither of us was willing to put restrictions on what she prepared. We laughed at our self-indulgence.

  Paul began to tell me about some legislators who were trying to get him to run for office and who would be paying us a visit in a week or so when James suddenly appeared to announce I had a phone call. Neither Paul nor I had heard the phone ring.

  "I was standing right beside it and picked it up quickly," James explained.

  "Who is it?"

  "Your sister. She sounds very excited and demanded I call you to the phone immediately," he said.

  I grimaced. I was sure she was going to tell me she and Beau had become formally engaged. That was one bit of news she wanted to deliver personally so she could hear my reaction.

  "Excuse me," I said to Paul, and rose.

  "Take it in my office," he suggested. I went there quickly, fortifying myself for the announcement. "Hello, Gisselle," I said. "What's so urgent?" She didn't respond for a moment.

  "Gisselle?"

  "There's been an accident," she said breathlessly. Oh no, I thought. Beau.

  "What? Who?"

  "It's Daphne," she gasped. "She fell from her horse late this afternoon and struck her head on a rock."

  "What happened?" I asked, my heart pounding.

  "She died . . . just a little while ago," Gisselle said. "I have no father. . . I have no mother. I have only you."

  7

  The Ties That Bind

  Paul looked up from his coffee as I slowly reentered the dining room, One gaze at my face told him I had received bad news.

  "What happened?" he asked.

  "Daphne . . . fell from her horse and struck her head. She's dead," I reported in a lifeless voice. The news had left me stunned.

  "Mon Dieu. Who phoned?"

  "Gisselle."

  "How is she taking it?"

  "From the tone of her voice and the things she said on the phone, not too well, but I think she's more frightened than anything else. I'll have to go to New Orleans," I said.

  "Of course. I'll cancel my meetings in Baton Rouge and go with you," he offered.

  "No, you don't have to go right away. The funeral isn't until Wednesday. There's no sense in your hanging around that dreary house all day."

  "Are you sure?" he asked. I nodded. "All right. I'll meet you there," he said. "What about Pearl?"

  "I think it's better for me to leave her here with Mrs. Flemming."

  "Okay. Tragic," Paul said, nodding slowly.

  "Yes. I can't help thinking how devastated my father would have been had he been alive when this happened to her. He idolized her. I saw that from the first moment I met them."

  "Poor Ruby," Paul said, rising to embrace
me. "Even after I've built this little Shangri-La away from everyone, sadness still finds its way to our doors."

  "There is no such paradise on earth, Paul. You can pretend and ignore just so much, but the dark clouds won't disappear. I think that's something we both better realize," I warned. He nodded.

  "When are you leaving?"

  "In the morning," I said numbly. Through my mind flitted all kinds of gloomy thoughts.

  "I hate to see any sadness in your face, Ruby." He kissed me on the forehead and hugged me to him, pressing his lips to my hair.

  "I better go see to my packing," I whispered, and hurried away, my heart feeling as if it had shrunk in my chest and only tapped a tiny beat.

  The following morning, after kissing Pearl good-bye and telling Mrs. Flemming I would call often, I went out to my car. Paul had carried out my things and put them in the trunk. He was waiting for me at the car, his face downcast and troubled. Neither of us had slept well the night before. I heard and saw him come to my door several times, but I didn't let him know I was awake. I was afraid that his comforting kisses and embrace would slip into something else again.

  "I really hate to let you go by yourself," he said. "I should accompany you."

  "And then do what? Hold my hand? Pace back and forth thinking about all the things you could and should be doing? You would just make me nervous," I told him. He smiled.

  "Just like you to always think about someone else's feelings, even at a time like this." He kissed me on the cheek and hugged me and I got into my car. "Drive carefully," he said. "I'll call you tonight."

  "'Bye." With many trepidations, I headed for New Orleans.

  I had the top down and wore a white silk kerchief. How much I had changed, I thought. All of the difficulties and troubles during the last year or so had aged and toughened me in ways I was just beginning to understand. A year ago, driving myself to New Orleans would have been the same as taking myself to the moon. Somewhere along this short but difficult journey I had undergone, I had left the little girl behind. I had a woman's work to do now and I had inherited the grit and the strength and the confidence from Grandmère Catherine to do it.