“What do you want him to shoot?”
“Get footage of whatever you think is important, particularly the interior of the plantation house, the slave quarters, and the French Quarter. That’s where Madeline lived before her father died, correct? We’ll use the footage to build sets and shoot the episode on a sound stage. And get shots of the bayou.”
“I haven’t had any visions of Madeline in a bayou,” Quinn replied.
“That doesn’t matter. The bayou is mysterious and picturesque, and always associated with Louisiana. We’ll find a way to use it.”
“All right, Rhys. How’s the weather in London?”
“Pissing as always. And it’s cold. By the way, I’m meeting Sylvia for lunch tomorrow. She’s bringing Emma. Any suggestions? I don’t often do lunch with four-year-olds.”
“Sylvia is bringing Emma?” Quinn asked, confused. Emma wouldn’t be at school on a Saturday, but why would she be with Sylvia?
“Emma is staying with Sylvia for a few days. Didn’t Gabe tell you?”
“Yes, of course,” Quinn lied. She had no desire to explain to Rhys that she hadn’t been able to get in touch with Gabe and had no idea he’d dropped Emma off at Sylvia’s, a decision Quinn couldn’t easily explain. Gabe barely knew Sylvia and wouldn’t leave Emma with her unless he was in dire straits. What the heck was going on? “I forgot. Just go anyplace that has a children’s menu.”
“Right. Good idea. I’ll call you on Monday.”
Quinn pushed away from the railing and began walking again. She needed the exercise after all the rich food Seth had been plying her with on a daily basis.
Quinn still had mixed feelings about the man, but she’d learned to accept that he would never be the father she’d envisioned. She had come to like him, though, and would maintain a relationship with him once she returned home. Maybe he could even visit her one day.
She would miss Brett, who was undemanding company and seemed to enjoy spending time with her. Their shared interest in history and certain types of literature gave them something to talk about that wasn’t too personal or awkward. Brett came round most days after finishing his classes, and often took her to places of historical interest that he thought she might enjoy.
“Guess who used to live here?” Brett asked gleefully as they walked past an imposing house with wrought-iron balconies and black shutters. The house was lovely, in a Gothic sort of way, but its aura smacked of something dark and forbidden.
“I have no idea. Who?”
“Anne Rice,” Brett announced after a dramatic pause, obviously expecting a reaction of some sort.
Quinn searched her memory, but drew a blank. “Who’s Anne Rice?”
“Oh, come on. Are you serious?”
Quinn smiled and shrugged. “Sorry, the name doesn’t ring any bells.”
“Interview with the Vampire. Lestat. Queen of the Damned. Have you never read the Vampire Chronicles? They’re awesome.”
“I’m not big on vampire lore.”
“It’s not lore, it’s fiction, and it’s brilliant. You have got to read it.”
“All right, I’ll look up the first book when I get home. Maybe I’ll have time to read it while I’m on maternity leave from the program.”
“Maternity leave?” Brett’s eyes widened. “Does Dad know?”
Quinn blushed furiously. She hadn’t told Seth she was expecting. It just seemed odd to blurt that out, and she wasn’t ready for his reaction. Early on she’d explained that she didn’t drink, putting an end to Seth offering her glasses of wine and shots of Bourbon. This would be Seth’s first grandchild, and he might want to be involved in its life. Quinn would not prevent him from forging a relationship with her child, but she simply wasn’t ready to figure out how it would all work. This baby was everyone’s first grandchild, and would have more grandparents than any child alive. There would be rivalry, and there would be much awkwardness if Sylvia and Seth found themselves in the same room, or if Quinn’s parents had to share their grandbaby with Quinn’s biological parents.
“No, I haven’t told him yet. Haven’t found the right moment, I guess. Please don’t say anything, Brett. I’ll tell him in my own good time.”
Brett shrugged. His cheerful mood vanished, and he suddenly seemed ill at ease. “Look, do you mind if we go back to the hotel now? There’s something I need to do. You know, for school.”
“Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow?” Quinn asked, wondering why Brett seemed so out of sorts.
“Yeah, sure. Tomorrow.”
Brett walked Quinn back to the hotel and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Congratulations, Quinn. Dad will be thrilled when he finds out. See ya.” He gave her a lopsided smile and walked away, his mind already on other things.
She hadn’t seen Brett since she told him about the baby two days ago, but he’d texted her several times to find out if she’d made any plans for the weekend. She’d replied that she was free, but that might change now that Jason Womack was due to arrive. She needed to make a list of places to visit with Jason and figure out the best time to drive out to Arabella Plantation.
Tired of walking, Quinn found a bench. She reached into her bag and pulled out her mobile to call Dina Aptekar and ask about shooting some footage at the plantation. One glance at the screen told her there’d been no calls from Gabe. Not even a text. But there was a text from Jill, asking her to call.
Quinn decided to get business out of the way first, and called the Arabella Plantation. Dina came on the phone after a brief hold.
“This is a bit unorthodox, but since you’re a Besson and this is your family’s history, I suppose we can make an exception and let you have a private tour,” Dina said. “However, I don’t think you can use the footage for anything but private viewing. Give me a call tomorrow and I’ll figure something out. Maybe you can come a half-hour before we open to avoid random tourists wandering into the shot. Would that be enough time to get what you need?”
“I think so,” Quinn replied, although she wasn’t sure. She’d have to talk to Jason and see what he thought. Quinn wished that Rhys had given her Jason’s contact information so she could find out exactly when he was planning to arrive and what hours he preferred to work. She supposed morning light would be best for filming the plantation, but Jason might want to get some twilight shots or even some footage of the mansion and the slave quarters by night.
Quinn put Rhys and Jason out of her mind and rang Gabe’s number. Again, the call went directly to voicemail. Quinn felt a pang of worry. Why wasn’t he answering? She fired off a text to him and then selected Jill’s number. She needed to hear a friendly voice, and Jill would be at her shop at this time.
“Hey, Jilly, how are things?” Quinn asked, relieved when her cousin answered on the first ring.
“Not too bad,” Jill said. “How’s sunny New Orleans? I reckon you don’t even need an umbrella. This weather is getting me down. What happened to bloody spring?”
“It’s England, Jill,” Quinn pointed out.
“Don’t I know it? Lord, I’d trade my firstborn for a week in the Maldives.”
“You don’t have a firstborn.”
“Hypothetically, love. Speaking of firstborns, how are you feeling?”
“I’m all right. Just a little more tired than usual. And I’ve had trouble adjusting to the time difference. I miss home.”
“When are you back?”
“I was planning to fly back at the weekend, but Rhys thinks there’s a story here, so he is sending a cameraman my way.”
“What story?” Jill didn’t know anything about Quinn’s ability to see into the past, so Quinn instantly backtracked. She had been making too many slips of the tongue of late.
“Rhys just thought it might be a nice change of pace to have an episode set in mysterious old antebellum South. Something to shock British audiences out of their complacency. You know what they expect—castles and medieval maidens. This will be something very different.”
“It sure will. Can’t wait to see it.”
“Jill, have you heard from Gabe?” Quinn asked carefully.
“No. Why?”
“He’s not answering his mobile, and Rhys mentioned that Emma is staying with Sylvia for a few days.”
“And how does Rhys know that Emma is staying with Sylvia?” Jill asked, instantly latching on to that bit of information.
“I gather they’ve been spending time together.”
“As what?”
“I’m not quite sure, and I don’t think it’s my place to ask. But I am concerned about Gabe.”
“Sounds like he might have left town. Have you called his parents?”
“I don’t want to alarm them, or make Gabe feel as if I’m checking up on him,” Quinn replied.
“Look, Quinn, Gabe probably has a perfectly logical explanation, being the perfectly logical bloke that he is. Have faith. He loves you.”
“Oh, I don’t think…” Quinn allowed the sentence to trail off. What exactly did she think? “Jill, I don’t think Gabe is with another woman. I think something’s wrong.”
“Quinn, whatever happened, Gabe will deal with it. He probably just doesn’t want to worry you, especially since you can’t do much from where you are. Don’t worry, coz.”
“Thanks, Jill.”
“So how are things with your new American family?” Jill asked, deftly changing the subject.
“Things are going well. Seth makes me feel a bit smothered, but he’s just excited about finding a daughter. I like his son—my brother,” Quinn amended. “He’s an interesting bloke. Perhaps he’ll come to England one day. It’d be fun to show him around. He’s a history buff, like me.”
“And what about Seth? Do you two have anything in common?”
“Not a blessed thing.” Quinn laughed.
“I think you do,” Jill replied.
“And what might that be?”
“Your drive. You must get it from him. He sounds like someone who sets his sights on something and goes for it. Like you.”
“I haven’t thought of that, but I suppose you’re right.”
“Isn’t genealogy fun?” Jill asked, dripping sarcasm. “Now you can try to figure out what wonderful traits you got from your birth parents.”
“I don’t think I really want to go there, Jill. Sylvia is as wily as a fox, and Seth is the proverbial bull in a china shop.”
“It’s a wonder you turned out halfway normal, given the zoo you come from.” Jill giggled.
“Did I?”
“I was being kind. Ooh, a customer. Gotta dash.”
“Talk to you later.”
Quinn disconnected the call. She felt much better after talking to Jill, and more focused. She’d stay for another week, get footage for Rhys, spend a few more days with Seth and Brett, and then she’d go home.
Chapter 28
September 1858
Arabella Plantation, Louisiana
“You sit still now, Miss Madeline, so I don’t burn you,” Cissy said as she expertly applied hot tongs, turning Madeline’s naturally wavy hair into artful ringlets atop her head. Cissy suggested clipping Madeline’s hair at the front so she could curl the shorter pieces and arrange them into a fashionable hairstyle. The rest of the hair was pinned high at the back of her head with long ringlets cascading over her shoulders. Madeline normally wore her hair parted in the middle and twisted into a simple knot, so this was quite a departure for her. Cissy said that the most fashionable hairstyle was called “à la giraffe,” but Madeline flat-out refused to allow Cissy to try it out.
The effect of the shorter curls around her face was rather pleasing, but Madeline’s mind wasn’t on her hair. George had invited her to accompany him to a dinner party tonight given by his friend Preston Montlake in honor of his guests, Mr. and Mrs. Monroe of Kingston, New York. Madeline had never been to any type of formal gathering, so her nerves were stretched to the breaking point. She felt an overwhelming desire to yank up the bodice of her gown, which was off-the-shoulder and had a rather daring décolletage, accentuated with wide flounces made of lace. She wore layers of petticoats beneath the bell-shaped skirt, and her corset was laced so tight she could barely breathe. Silk opera-length gloves and a small jeweled reticule would complete the ensemble. And, of course, she would take her mother’s fan.
“George, I really don’t know,” Madeline said when George brought up the party several days ago. “I wouldn’t know how to behave in such company. I’ll be the youngest person there, won’t I?”
“Come, Maddy. Please, do me this favor. It’s darn awkward to attend a gathering like this by yourself, and Amelia is refusing to leave her bed. I would gladly decline, but Mr. Monroe owns one of the largest textile mills in the North, and he’s looking to increase his supply of cotton. Preston is already under contract with him, and he means to give some of us an introduction. I’d be a fool to miss out on such an opportunity.”
“I haven’t anything appropriate to wear,” Madeline said. She had no idea what a lady would wear to a dinner party, since her mother was long gone and Amelia hadn’t gone out anywhere since Madeline arrived at the plantation.
“Cissy will find just the right thing. She always attended on Amelia when we went out or entertained at home. Is that a yes?”
Madeline nodded. She couldn’t let George down, not after he’d been so good to her, and perhaps this would be an opportunity to learn something of this world she’d been thrust into. Sooner or later, Amelia would recover and there would be gaiety at Arabella Plantation once more. Amelia had told Madeline of the parties they’d hosted and described the food and her gowns in exquisite detail. She obviously enjoyed socializing, so it couldn’t be all that unpleasant.
“There you are,” Cissy said, admiring her handiwork. “You sho look pretty, Miss Madeline.”
Madeline’s hand went to her hair, but Cissy deftly caught her wrist. “Don’t touch it. You’ll ruin it.”
“Sorry,” Madeline muttered.
“Here, let me put your bonnet on, and be careful when you take it off. Do it just so.” Cissy made a lifting motion with her hands. “Straight up, without touching the sides.”
“All right.”
“And take a shawl. It’ll be getting chilly by the time you’ll be returning tonight.”
If Madeline felt uneasy wearing Amelia’s finery, it was nothing compared to her discomfort when she came downstairs and saw the look on Sybil’s face. Sybil didn’t say anything, but her eyes narrowed and her head tipped to the side, as if she were appraising a side of beef. Madeline expected to be sent straight back upstairs to bed, but Sybil nodded in approval.
“She’ll do,” Sybil said to George, who came out of the parlor. He wore a navy-blue tail-coat with fawn-colored trousers and a silk cravat tied in a bow, and held his top hat under his arm. He looked handsome and youthful, and the smile that lit up his face erased the lines of his recent bereavement.
“Maddy, you look like a proper Southern belle. Doesn’t she, Grandmamma? Just look at her.”
“You do look lovely,” Sybil admitted in a rare moment of generosity. “Your father would have been proud.”
Tears welled in Madeline’s eyes. This was the first kind thing Sybil had ever said to her, so perhaps she was finally warming up to her.
“We should get going. It’s a half-hour drive to Preston’s plantation,” George said.
“Are you taking a fan?” Sybil asked Madeline.
“Yes. I have my mother’s fan.”
Sybil paled at the mention of Corinne, and turned to Cissy. “Fetch one of Miss Amelia’s fans,” she barked.
“I will take my own,” Madeline said.
“Another fan will go better with your gown,” Sybil insisted, but Madeline wouldn’t back down. The fan was the only item that was truly hers, and she meant to bring it.
“I’m partial to this one.”
“As you wish.” Sybil swept past her. “Have a good evening, George,” she called o
ver her shoulder, completely ignoring Madeline as she mounted the stairs.
“We shall. Come, Maddy.”
George escorted Madeline to the waiting carriage and they set off into the purpling twilight of the September evening. Madeline was glad she’d brought the shawl, especially when the carriage entered the wide avenue leading away from the house. It was cooler beneath the trees, and very dark. The wings of moss swayed like loose ends of ghostly shrouds, contributing to the eerie atmosphere.
Madeline stole a peek at George, who looked completely at ease as he leaned back against the seat. He was still grieving, but no one would ever guess that his fondest hopes had just been cruelly dashed. George was skilled at masking his feelings, and that was a lesson Madeline needed to learn. It wouldn’t do to wear her heart on her sleeve. She had to be charming, courteous, and gracious, and never draw attention to herself for the wrong reasons. She hoped she wouldn’t embarrass George by doing or saying something inappropriate.
It will be all right, she thought as she peered at him from beneath her lashes. George will guide me.
Chapter 29
Madeline had worried about encountering all kinds of pitfalls during her first dinner party, but one thing she hadn’t anticipated was mind-numbing boredom. She wondered why George had even bothered to bring her as she added little value to the gathering, but she had noticed Mrs. Montlake sizing her up when she thought Madeline wasn’t looking. The Montlakes had a son of eighteen who had cast her shy looks all evening and tried to engage her in conversation while the guests were served pre-dinner cocktails in the parlor. Madeline enjoyed her mint julep a lot more than her talk with Gilbert Montlake, who was as tall, thin, and intense as his father. She was grateful when George joined them, rescuing her from Gilbert’s awkward attempts at flirtation. George seemed amused and treated Gilbert with great consideration, asking his permission to steal away Madeline for a few moments.
The Unforgiven (Echoes from the Past Book 3) Page 18
