by Emery, Lynn
“No, Pauline. We’re fine.” Cecile nodded her head in a regal manner. “You can go now.”
“Okay. I left some tuna salad in the ice box an’ French bread is on the counter.” Pauline withdrew.
Cecile waited until she heard the sound of the back door slam. “The Dalcour girl is in town.”
“Yes.” Henry continued to spoon the hot corn and shrimp soup into his mouth. He paused to pat his lips.
“They seem to sprout back like weeds, those people,” Cecile said with distaste.
“Hmm, Darcy knows what do to.” Henry did not look at her.
“The stories are already being raked up again, as though I haven’t heard enough about Estelle–” She stopped at the steely look he gave her.
“It doesn’t matter. Simon will buy the land, Rae will go back to the wasteful life she was leading, and that will be the end of it.” Henry spoke in a measured tone. “Darcy has it all worked out.”
Cecile put her spoon down. “Why can’t Marius be in charge for once?”
“Darcy has more skill in business,” Henry said. “We’ve been through this before.” He went back to his meal.
“Marius is just as smart as Darcy, Henry. You know that very well. You should not show such favoritism just because…”
“Woman, don’t start nagging me again. Can’t I get peace in my own house?” Henry threw his napkin on the table.
“You’re hardly here. If I’d known when we got married–”
“Cecile, you’ve been whining for forty years. Give it a rest.” Henry stood and walked from the room with Cecile right behind him.
“I’ve given you everything and how do you repay me?”
Henry spun to face her once they reached the living room. “You never complained about the jewelry, cars and trips.”
“Things! All you ever gave back were things.” Cecile swallowed hard.
“Be satisfied. You’ve got what you wanted and more.” Henry lit a cigar.
“Have I?” Cecile spoke with bitterness. “You still hold onto that woman’s memory, hugging it to you at night. She was between us every time you touched me.”
“Don’t talk foolishness.”
“You favored Estelle’s son over my children. Now you’re favoring Darcy over my grandchildren. I won’t have it.” Cecile grabbed his arm.
“You don’t have a damn thing to do with my business decisions.” Henry jerked free of her hold.
“No, I’ve kept quiet all these years, but the whole town will be interested to know where you got a sudden windfall of cash back in 1963 to expand the business.” Cecile gave him a nasty smile.
“Shut up!” Henry snapped. “I’m sick of listening to you. I’ve put the most expensive clothes on your back and sent you on trips all over this country, even to Europe.”
“So you could shack up with your sluts! I know about every one of them. They were glad to rub my face in it,” she shouted back.
“If you’d done your job as a wife, I wouldn’t have needed other women,” he spat at her.
Cecile collapsed onto the sofa with a moan of anguish. “How can you be so cruel?”
“You clawed for years to get me, so congratulations.”
“I loved you, Henry, even after you humiliated me in front of the whole town by marrying Estelle. Everyone knew we were engaged.” Cecile spoke as though these were events that had only happened in the past few weeks.
Henry gave a snort of derision. “How long will you try to milk that for sympathy? Silly woman.”
“You never stopped loving Estelle. Even after–”
“Enough!” Henry roared. He stood over her with a look of dark fury, both fists raised. “This family has prospered because of my hard work. No one, Estelle, no one, will threaten everything I’ve built.”
Cecile looked defeated as tears rolled down her cheeks. “You called me by her name again.”
Henry looked shaken and pale. He pulled a hand over his face. “You’re mistaken.”
“You did.” Cecile stared ahead bleakly.
Henry poured himself a generous serving of Crown Royal. “Will you get off my back?” His hand trembled when he lifted the glass. “Just leave me alone.”
“Yes, I’ll keep quiet, as I’ve done all these years.” She heaved a sigh. “Habit is hard to break.”
“Your taste for the good life is the only habit you haven’t wanted to break,” Henry shot back.
Cecile wiped her eyes with a tissue as she watched him take a sip from the glass. “You’ll kill yourself drinking and smoking, Henry. The doctor has warned you.”
“Don’t get your hopes up, woman. I’ll live a few years longer. And make the Dalcours pay, too.” Henry wore a stony look of determination.
*
Simon straightened the items on his desk for the third time. He smoothed down his hair. Nine forty-five. She would be there any minute. What is up with you? Simon forced his hand away from tugging at his shirt collar. He tried to convince himself that, like any other business meeting, he just wanted to make the right impression.
“Here are the beignets.” Nola, his secretary, came in with a small tray. “Mr. Auzenne just dropped them off from the bakery. Must be a real special client,” she added, pointing to the fresh flowers in a vase on the credenza.
“Every potential customer is special, Nola.” Simon took the tray from her and set it down next to the coffee pot.
“Uh-huh,” she replied. “And this office hasn’t been so clean in a l-long time.”
“You know I clean this place up at least–”
“Once a year, I know.” Nola laughed. “The janitorial crew just sorta dust any tiny space not covered with paper.”
Simon faced her with his arms crossed. “You know I don’t like anybody moving my things but me.”
Nola held up a palm. “Hey, fine by me. I’m here to type, do data entry and organize project schedules. If you don’t mind operating in a landfill, who am I to argue?”
“Nola, you have the most irritating habit of–”
“Telling it like it ‘tis.” Nola let out another laugh in her deep contralto. “I know, boss man.” She gave him an affectionate pat on the arm and left.
“And of not letting me finish a sentence,” Simon called after her in a peevish tone. “Mouthy woman!” He looked at the digital clock on the credenza. His hand was still brushing his hair back when Nola came in again.
“Now I get it,” she said with a wink. “Yep, you look just fine.”
“What are you talking about?”
His assistant wore a mischievous half-smile. “Miss Raenette Dalcour is here to see you.”
“Fine.” Simon forced a neutral tone to his voice. He went past Nola, standing in the open doorway, to the outer office. “Good morning, Ms. Dalcour. How are you?”
Rae took his hand with a cautious expression on her face. She wore only a little lipstick. Her hair, worn lose, had thick waves from the braids she’d worn before. Two small, silver combs pinned it back from her face. The sleeveless, denim shirt and white jeans were fitting without being tight. Simon held his breath a moment when her soft skin brushed his.
“Morning,” said Rae, following him into his office. She waved away his offer of fluffy donuts. “Just coffee.”
“I was sorry to hear about your father, Ms. Dalcour.”
“Thanks.” Rae took off her sunglasses. “So what is this proposition you mentioned the other day?” She got right to the point.
“Well your father’s land along Bayou Latte is a prime location for development.” Simon sat next to her, rather than behind his desk.
“Don’t believe it,” Rae said shortly. She drank from the cup.
Simon raised an eyebrow. “Care to expand on that?”
“Listen, I know what happened on Bayou Verret and Grande River when they jumped on the development bandwagon. A bunch of fancy houses went up, right on the water, and so did the pollution levels.” Rae stared at him as though daring Simon to contra
dict the facts.
“Yes, but–”
“The natural beauty is history. Now, what you mostly hear is the sound of jet skis and speedboats – especially in the summer, when the new money folks from Baton Rouge and New Orleans visit their summer homes.”
“Well the economy–”
“Sure, the tax base expanded. So did sales-tax collections. But do we really need it? Belle Rose is making a solid comeback with tourism, for one thing.” Rae raised a finger.
“We–”
“Not to mention being a popular sports destination. We’ve already got enough fishing and hunting camps, which fill up almost all year round.”
“Can I say something, please,” Simon burst out in a fit of exasperation. First, Nola, and now this one…
“Sure.” Rae appeared to suggest that he could have spoken at any time. “Go ahead.” The corners of her mouth twitched as she drank from her cup.
“I agree with you about Bayou Verret and Grande River. The local aldermen didn’t do a very good job of planning. And you’re right; we are doing very well in town, what with the tourist excursions. We even have an annual antique festival every May that is steadily growing.” Simon took her empty cup and refilled it without asking. He sat down again.
“Okay, so tell me what you’re talking about.”
“More tourist development really – a sort of modified beach front,” said Simon, holding up a hand to forestall another objection, “but with full-time monitoring. Almost like a national park.”
“You mean a ranger wearing a cute little hat?” Rae wore a teasing expression.
Simon smiled. “Sort of.” He got up and pulled out a set of plans. “Look here. This is where it’s proposed. Part of this is land that I own. My father sold it to me.”
“I see.” Rae looked at the map showing Bayou Latte. A large area was outlined in blue. “And this..?”
“Part of it might be used for industrial development.”
“Now wait a minute–”
“Nothing heavy. Pantheon Corporation might locate one of their divisions on that spot – a plant making underwear. Cottonwear is the brand, I think.”
Rae grinned at him. “Oh yeah, I own some of those.”
Simon gazed at her figure. A mental picture of her full hips, covered only by soft cotton panties, winked on before he knew what was happening. Warmth crept through him. He blinked in embarrassment when he realized she was looking at him looking at her. Simon averted his eyes fast.
“Y-yes, well, it means at least seventy construction jobs and sixty or so permanent jobs,” he managed to stammer out.
“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Rae said. “I mean, we’ve gotta have drawers and bras, right?”
Simon resisted an urge to look at her again. “Uh, right. Anyway, this would be the beach area here. We’d build a visitors’ guide center with restrooms. The state might even hire a part-time employee to give out tourist brochures about the area.”
“You’ve done your homework, Mr. St. Cyr.” Rae leaned closer to get a better view of the plans.
Her scent, light and floral, floated towards him. “Er, I knew you’d have questions.” Simon pointed to another spot close to where her family home was located. “Of course you’ll want to keep a few acres around here.” That was obvious, but it made her move just a bit more toward him.
“For sure.” Rae looked into his eyes. For a moment neither spoke. “So how bad do you want it?” she asked.
Her face was so close that Simon could count the thick lashes framing those clear, brown eyes. “I, uh…” He tried to focus.
“The price, Mr. St. Cyr – what are you offering me?”
Simon steadied his breathing. “The property, yes, the land.” He cleared his throat. “Five thousand an acre.”
Rae gave a low whistle. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”
“This is waterfront property near a historic town. After all, Belle Rose is about to celebrate one hundred and sixty-seven years since its founding.”
“I’ll need to discuss this with my brothers, of course. By the way, I want to keep five acres at least. My dad’s old dance hall is located a ways down the road from the house.” Rae stood up. “That’s if I sell at all.”
“No problem. That leaves us with twenty acres – exactly what we need.” Simon rose, too.
“You said ‘we.’ You have a partner?”
Simon thought for a split second before deciding to lay his cards on the table. “There is my grandfather. He’s a silent partner in my business. And Darcy Jove and I are working together to bring Pantheon in. His property is adjacent to yours.”
Rae’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t need to discuss this with my brothers. Forget it,” she said in a voice taut with anger.
Simon was afraid this would be her reaction. “Ms. Dalcour, we’ve formed a corporation. Darcy won’t own the land.”
“You must think I’m seven different kinds of fool. The Joves have been trying to take our property for over fifty years,” Rae snapped and turned to go.
“We’re offering to buy it at a fair price. And you’ll still own five acres.” Simon blocked her exit. “Darcy only owns fifteen percent of the company. If anyone ends up with the land, it would be me. And we can draw up an agreement that I have to give you first shot at buying it back if ever I want to sell it.”
“Oh, great, the St. Cyrs, another family that trashed my grandfather’s name, would own it. That makes a big difference.” Rae gave a grunt.
“Listen, if it means anything to you, I never heard Papa Joe say one bad thing about Mr. Vincent in all the years I was growing up.” Simon was sincere. In fact, Papa Joe had been careful to point out that there was no proof of Vincent Dalcour’s guilt in the theft.
“Yeah, well….” Rae looked at him, the scowl on her face softening a bit.
“You know, Papa Joe even tried to help your dad. Of course, Mr. Lucien told him no.” Simon took one step toward her.
Rae chuckled. “Very diplomatic. Daddy told him to kiss his you-know-what.” She lifted a shoulder. “Okay, so the St. Cyrs didn’t exactly spit on us.”
Simon took this as an encouraging sign. “Look, I realize your family was put through a lot. But unless you have plans to use all that land, why not hold onto a sizeable amount and still make a profit?”
Let me get back to you.” Rae studied him for a moment. “The corner of her full mouth lifted. “You’re not a bad pitch man at that.”
“I want you to feel like I’m dealing with you honestly. That’s all.” Simon felt a tingle at the small compliment.
“I appreciate it. I know I’m a bit prickly about all this, but….”
“Sure, I understand.”
“See ya ‘round,” said Rae, putting on her sunglasses.
Simon’s heart sped up at the sight of her about to leave. “Ms. Dalcour, maybe if we walked over the property together, you’d get an even better picture. To explain to your family, I mean.” He could not see her eyes behind the dark lenses. “We could have lunch afterwards.” There, he’d said it. The seconds beat out like hours while she stood considering his invitation.
“Friday good?” she asked.
“Yes, sure. I’ll pick you up around ten-thirty.”
“Okay.” Rae nodded and sauntered out, closing the door behind her.
Simon exhaled. Now all he had to do was check his calendar to make sure he was free on Friday morning. Her floral scent came back to him. If not, Nola would just have to reschedule everything else.
Chapter 4
A breeze stirred the leaves of swamp oak. Bright sparkles of sunshine bounced off the ripples of Bayou Latte. Rae stood on the bank in a clearing where small boats were turned upside down, waiting for their owners to come back. This was one of the many places where fishermen launched, to head off deeper into the swamps and bayous in search of speckled trout, choupic or catfish.
Rae savored the feel of warm air brushing across her skin. It brought relief from the hot su
n. Yet she did not mind the heat. She enjoyed the smell of the fish and wet earth, and the sound of birds calling to one another. Nowhere else was she so much at peace. Even when she was a child, she never felt rejected on the bayou. Memories of crawfishing with Lucien came flashing back as vividly as a technicolor movie. They would follow the waterway into Bayou Choctaw and then on to Houmas Swamp. All bitterness could be forgotten back in the bayous.
Rae gasped at the sight of a man standing about sixty yards away on the bank. He was dressed in a red shirt and blue jeans. His brown skin glistened. For a moment, he bore a striking resemblance to Lucien. Rae blinked away tears. If only it were him. There had been so much left unsaid between them. That’s what made death so painful for survivors, the unfinished business of life.
“Hey, tryin’ to catch some dinner?” Andrew called in a voice full of cheer.
Rae turned away as he approached, hastily wiping her face dry with a bandanna taken from her back pocket.
“You skipping another day of work? It’s a wonder you have a job, Andy,” Rae said when he got about fifty yards away. She used his old, childhood nickname.
“Contrary to popular rumor, I work hard. I got off at two, sure, but I went to work for six this morning,” Andrew yelled back. He closed the distance between them in no time with his long-legged stride. “Say, you all right?”
“Sure, nothing wrong with me.” Rae wiped her face with a hand.
Andrew peered at her. “You’ve been crying. Come here, cher.” He wrapped her in a sweaty embrace.
“Go on now, I said I’m okay.” Despite her words, Rae leaned against his chest. She pushed away from him after a few seconds. “Whew! You smell like crawfish.”
“You ain’t exactly smelling like a rose yourself,” Andrew teased. He pinched her chin with affection before looking out over the water. “Yep, Daddy is all over this place. I feel him myself when I’m out here.” He did not have to ask what prompted her tears.
“Daddy was always a contradiction, Andy. Somehow he held onto this land. But he’d stay drunk for days, yelling and playing that accordion.” Rae sat down, Indian-style, on a grassy mound. Andrew plopped beside her.
