The Seduction Of Claudia

by Chauvet, Antoinette

  "Good morning," Andrew said politely, sidling past her to the door.

  "Bonjour, cher," the woman said, her voice sexily hoarse.

  Recognition and remembrance slammed into Andrew. Claudia's mother, Marcheline Beaumont, was here in the flesh. With all the upheaval, he had forgotten that she was due to arrive. Apparently, Claudia had forgotten as well, seeing as her mother sat on the stoop in the cold rather than inside Claudia's warm apartment. Andrew decided not to identify himself to her just yet.

  "Bonjour, comment ca va?" he replied.

  "Ah, vous parlez francais," Marcheline purred coquettishly, fluttering her long lashes and darting a fetching gaze up at him.

  Wow, this woman is a master, Andrew thought.

  "Actually, I don't speak much beyond what I just said," Andrew prevaricated. He spoke enough to get along, but wasn't quite up to parsing words with this woman in a language other than his own.

  "Alors, we speak in English. You live here?" she asked.

  "Nope, just visiting someone. Why are you sitting in the cold?"

  "I visit my daughter. She know I am coming, mais she is no here," Marcheline replied in charmingly broken English, shrugging and gesturing with typical gallicisms. "I know not where she is," she finished, shivering and moving closer to him, seeking warmth and protection from the handsome man who stood before her.

  Andrew could immediately understand why she appealed to men. She was tiny and very beautiful, with rich cocoa colored skin and fine features. Claudia had inherited her wonderfully mobile, kissably soft lips from her mother. Marcheline was well preserved: nearing fifty with no wrinkles or lines to mar her face. She had led a cosseted life. She so consummately played the role of damsel in distress that he imagined most men would immediately want to be the knight on a white charger who rescued her. Even knowing what she was all about, he was inclined to help her.

  "Well, madame, I'll see if my friend is home and if she is, you can come up and wait with us until your daughter returns."

  "Ah, oui. C'est parfait! Merci, cher," she said with an overabundance of gratefulness, laying her leather-glove clad hand on his arm. "J'ai très froid!" she finished, shivering dramatically.

  Andrew held the door open for her and they proceeded into the vestibule. He went to the bank of buzzers and pushed the one that rang Claudia's apartment.

  "Mais, chér, this is my daughter's apartment," Marcheline exclaimed.

  "What a coincidence! Claudia is your daughter?"

  "Oh -- that nickname," she tut-tutted, then confirmed. "Oui, Claudia est ma fille. Who are you?"

  "A friend," Andrew replied.

  Marcheline looked at him, as though hoping to divine his true identity through his appearance. He withstood the scrutiny, not batting an eyelash at the questions he saw in her eyes. He didn't intend to answer any of them. Rather, he hoped to turn this situation to his advantage by having her answer a few questions.

  There had been no answer from Claudia's apartment. He rang the buzzer again and they waited in silence for the answer they knew would not be forthcoming. Andrew decided to ring one of Claudia's neighbors, the stereotypical old lady who had lived in the building for decades and made note of everyone's comings and goings.

  She, of course, answered immediately.

  "Mrs. Hirschbaum, it's Andrew Conal, Claudia's friend. I'm here with her mother and we can't find Claudia. Have you seen her?"

  She buzzed them in and they went to her first floor apartment whose door was tucked behind the stairs. She opened the door the merest crack and peered at them shrewdly. Apparently, it had belatedly occurred to her that perhaps she shouldn't have opened the door to strangers. Recognizing Andrew for who he said he was, she opened the door wider and gestured them across the threshold.

  "Good morning, Mrs. Hirschbaum. How are you today?" Andrew asked politely.

  "This cold weather is making my bones ache," she complained the way she always did. "I should have moved to Florida years ago. I'm just getting too old for these Boston winters."

  "You don't look or act a day over fifty," Andrew responded, the way he always did when Mrs. Hirschbaum fished for compliments. "Mrs. H, this is Claudia's mother, Marcheline Beaumont. She's here to visit her daughter, but Claudia isn't answering her buzzer. Have you seen her?"

  "Why, yes, I have. She left last evening at around 6-ish; looked like she was going on a trip. She had a little suitcase with wheels on it when she got into the cab out front." Mrs. H could always be counted on to have noticed the details. "I can't imagine that you didn't know she was going on a trip..." she finished speaking, her painted-on eyebrows arched in question as she waited for an explanation.

  "We had a bit of a disagreement," Andrew said, his heart in his throat, reeling from the news that Claudia had really left him. "I left to get some fresh air and when I came back she was gone."

  Marcheline listened intently, but didn't comment. Andrew glanced at her and could see the wheels turning in her mind. He guessed correctly that she intended to use everything she learned to her own advantage.

  "Tch," Mrs. H sucked her teeth. "You kids and your passions. My late husband and I learned the hard way never to walk out on an argument. We were divorced because of just that and the day we met to sign the divorce papers was when we realized the whole thing had been a big misunderstanding. Our pride had kept us apart," she mused. "We got remarried the same day of our divorce!"

  Andrew had heard the story before and he wholeheartedly understood what Mrs. Hirschbaum was trying to tell him: Don't let pride stop you from communicating with the ones you love. He was champing at the bit to communicate with Claudia. In fact, he had a choice bit of communicating to do with regard to her disappearing act, but of course, he'd need to find her first.

  "Mrs. H, I was wondering if you still had Claudia's spare apartment key?"

  "Of course I do."

  "I think Madame Beaumont would be more comfortable waiting for Claudia in her apartment. Do you mind if I let her in?"

  "Not at all dear. Let me get the key."

  They followed Mrs. H up the two flights of stairs to Claudia's apartment. In spite of her claims of old age, Mrs. H was as spry and agile as anyone Andrew knew. She let them in and handed the key to Andrew.

  "Please be sure to return it, won't you dear?"

  "Yes, Mrs. H. Thank you for your help."

  Marcheline stepped over the threshold and gracefully swept the fur hat from her head. She turned her back to him and unbuttoned her coat, clearly expecting Andrew to assist her in its removal. He was amused by her high-handed behavior, but he complied, because he was always a gentleman. As he hung the coat and hat in the closet, Marcheline dug around in her purse for her cigarettes. Andrew heard the click of her lighter and turned around.

  "Claudia wouldn't approve of smoking in her apartment," Andrew observed.

  "You are correct, she would not approve. She does not approve of anything, especially not anything I do," Marcheline said, with a dismissive gesture of her hand. Cocking her head, she looked him in the eye and asked, "Are you and my daughter lovers?"

  Without blinking, Andrew replied, "With all due respect, Madame, I don't think that's any of your business."

  Marcheline laughed seductively. "Touché, cher. But I will tell you what I think. I think that you and Claudia are not lovers. You and she would never suit. I can tell that you are a man of passion," she said as she sashayed around Claudia's living room, picking up and discarding knickknacks and mementoes, depositing ashes from her cigarette in potted plants. "Claudia sees the world in black and white. If you deal in shades of gray, she is a harsh, exacting judge. She is a one dimensional woman, cold and unfeeling," she finished with an exaggerated shudder.

  Marcheline clearly did not know her daughter, Andrew thought, the woman had no idea how deeply Claudia felt, how passionate she was when she felt safe enough. He also noticed that her English was quite good, her accent was not so pronounced now.

  Declining to respon
d to her leading statements about her daughter, Andrew asked, "Do you have any ideas about where Claudia might be?"

  "Probably Paris, with her cousin, Marie-Josée. My niece and daughter were as close as sisters growing up and they continue to be. Always when Claudia was upset, Marie-Josée would be the first person she would call."

  Andrew knew that to be true and kicked himself for not having thought of it on his own.

  "I see. Well. Let me show you the guest room. I'm not sure if there's much in the refrigerator," he said as he led her down the hallway, "but there's a market down the block and plenty of places to eat out or order in. I've got a few errands to run and can't be late. If there's nothing else you need, I'd better go."

  "I was hoping we could get to know each other better. Maybe have a meal together," Marcheline pouted, brushing too close to him where he stood in the doorway. She turned, crowding him, and ran a long red fingernail up and down the placket of his shirt, a fake pout on her lovely lips.

  Andrew was stunned, but not surprised that she would attempt to seduce him. Seduction was clearly her objective, Andrew read the intent in her eyes. Marcheline thought nothing of betraying her daughter.

  "Maybe another time, I really can't be late for my appointment," he politely declined, moving away from her without betraying his distaste. "Make yourself comfortable. Au revoir."

  Andrew could hardly contain the excitement he felt over knowing where Claudia was. He walked back to his apartment and immediately reserved a seat on the evening flight to Paris. He packed a small carry-on with a couple of changes of clothes and other travel essentials. He made a couple more phone calls to let his agent and his parents know that he'd be gone for a few days. The final call he made was to Patrick Gates.

  "Paddy, how are you?"

  "Fine, son, just fine. What can I do for you?"

  "I wanted to stop by before I leave town for a few days," Andrew said.

  "Oh? Are you off to another assignment in some far-flung place?" he asked, but then didn't allow Andrew a chance to respond. "Come on by, my boy, it's only me at home today, though, Pam's out at some charity thing this afternoon."

  "That's fine, it's you I want to see. I'll see you in less than an hour."

  *****

  The bath had served to make Claudia feel a bit more human. The routine of moisturizing her skin, drying her hair and dressing had provided the normalcy she had needed. She purposefully applied make-up, hoping to disguise the wan, grainy condition of her skin, attempting to affect the effect that she wore no make-up. Marie-Josée would know that something horrible was wrong if she noticed that Claudia was wearing make-up. As close as the two women were, Claudia felt too raw to rehash the recent goings on in any real detail with her cousin. She worked on her face, while at the same time working on her mind, digging deep to find the familiar protective emotional armor.

  When Marie-Josée swept through the door, Claudia had regained some of her composure. She was happy to be with her cousin, one of the few people on earth with whom she felt safe, accepted and loved. As girls, the two of them had spent summers and holidays together in Martinique, running barefoot along beaches and freely exploring their environs. Marie-Josée's mother, Claudia's aunt Josephine, was inclined to let the girls do what they would, within reason. She allowed them the run of the beach during the daytime, but always insisted they be home and neatly washed and dressed for meals. She ensured that they were in bed at an appropriate time each night and Claudia had often lain awake in bed, only to feign sleep when Aunt Josephine crept into the room she and Marie-Josée shared to make sure they were tucked safely in bed and to press gentle kisses to their foreheads. Those kisses had been a balm that had gone a long way toward soothing the wounds that were inflicted on her when she was home with her mother.

  Claudia had adored her aunt and had thriven in the predictable structure of her household. Back home, Claudia tucked herself into bed at a self-imposed time each night. She had usually fixed her own dinner and eaten it in solitude. It was always hard to leave Aunt Josephine, Marie-Josée and their family. She had asked her aunt one time why she couldn't just stay with them forever. Josephine had looked sad and told her that she would love to keep her, but that Marcheline would never allow it. That answer made no sense to Claudia since her mother never took an interest in anything she said or did. She wouldn't have even noticed if Claudia were gone. She found out many years later that her aunt had indeed asked Marcheline if she could take over the care and raising of Claudia. Her mother had adamantly refused, telling her sister to butt out and that she was fully capable of raising her own daughter. Josephine had known Marcheline had been speaking out of foolish pride and not out of any real desire to personally care for Claudia. She also knew that if she pressed Marcheline further, she would cease to allow Claudia to make any visits at all to the family in Martinique. Josephine knew when to leave well enough alone.

  Claudia and Marie-Josée chatted animatedly, catching up on family gossip and deciding what they might do for dinner that evening. As her mother knew her sister Marcheline, Marie-Josée knew Claudia well enough to know that trying to pry information out of her was the surest way to make her clam up. Claudia would tell her in her own time why she'd suddenly decided to take a trip to Paris and why she wore all that goop on her face, goop that wasn't hiding how awful she looked.

  The women walked down Rue du Faubourg St. Honore, stopping periodically to look at the eye-catching displays in the shop windows. They turned into Place du Marché St. Honore and arrived at their destination: a small, typically Parisian bistro. In contrast to the chill, drizzly evening, the interior of the restaurant was warm and inviting, with wide-plank wood floors, white tablecloths and candles flickering on each table. They checked their coats and sat down at their table. Marie-Josee ordered a bottle of Bordeaux and sat back with a sigh.

  "It's so good to see you," she said.

  "Ditto," Claudia said, "I love that my favorite cousin lives in one of the greatest cities in the world!"

  "Makes me wonder if you're here to see me or if I'm just coincidental."

  "Never doubt my affection for you, Marie-Josee," Claudia said, suddenly serious, unable to continue the banter. Tears welled up in her eyes and she willed them not to fall. She did love her cousin. Marie-Josée was a constant in her life, trustworthy, stable and loyal.

  "I was kidding," Marie-Josee said, "what's the matter, Claudia? You're so brittle you look as though you're going to shatter. And all that make-up you're wearing is not fooling me one bit, by the way. You look like shit!"

  Claudia nearly choked on a sip of wine. Trust her cousin to cut through the bullshit. "I know. It's pretty bad, isn't it?" She took a fortifying breath and said simply, "Man troubles."

  "Andrew?"

  "Yes. You won't believe what's happened."

  Claudia recounted the events of the past several days as dispassionately as she could. That was the only way she could get through the telling. As she talked, the irony of the situation hit home. What were the odds that the guy she loved would, for all intents and purposes, be a member of her biological father's family?

  Marie-Josee listened carefully. She expressed shock and outrage that Gates would try to bribe her. He had acted like the creep she had always imagined him to be. The one thing she did have trouble believing was Claudia's take on Andrew's response. She had met him a few times and had liked him immensely. She had been very happy to see Claudia with someone who loved her and Andrew clearly did. What she knew of Andrew didn't gel with what Claudia was telling her. Knowing Claudia almost as well as she knew herself, she knew that Claudia would have felt that she didn't deserve a man like Andrew in the first place. She would have assumed that Andrew had finally arrived at the same conclusion.

  "Claudia, I think you need to give Andrew a chance to explain himself."

  "What's to explain? He considers Gates a member of his family," Claudia replied dejectedly. "If you had seen the way his family was at Christmas, you'd
know what I mean. They're so close. It shouldn't come as a shock to me that Andrew chose them over me..." she trailed off wistfully.

  She hated feeling this way. Her emotions, normally deeply buried, were simmering right on the surface of her consciousness. She knew they were in danger of boiling over. Yesterday, she had welcomed the novelty of acknowledging her feelings. She had learned what it was like to be possessed of a happy, healthy spirit. It was unlike anything she had experienced before and she had been unable, even unwilling, to contain it. She had been on the verge of telling Andrew how she felt about him, that she was utterly and completely open to him, incapable of further resistance. Instead, she had walked into the kitchen and found Patrick Gates. Now, twenty-four hours later, she wallowed in the throes of despair, unable to erect the wall that ordinarily would have shielded her from reality. Instead, she was being bombarded with emotion; pain and anguish roiled inside her; she felt hopeless and regarded everything with negativity.

  "Oh, stop being so fatalistic! You need to trust Andrew; I'm positive that you've misjudged him. He would never desert you because of who your father is!" Marie-Josée said passionately.

  "But he did desert me! Don't you see?!" Claudia was inconsolable.

  Marie-Josée sighed and shook her head. She didn't know Andrew well, but she had a feeling that there was more to this story than Claudia knew or was willing to see. She decided to wait a few days before she took any action of her own.

  *****

  Andrew let himself into the Gates's large home without knocking, as he had done since he was a boy.

  "Paddy," he called out, "it's me!"

  "I'm in the study," Gates responded, "come on back."

  Andrew shut the door behind him and crossed the parquet-floored foyer and went down the hall to the study.Paddy sat behind his large wooden desk, peering over the tops of his glasses at the computer that sat in front of him. When Andrew walked through the door of the study, Paddy's eyes brightened. Taking off his glasses, he stood,