Second Chance Sister

by Linda Kepner

  “Bonjour, M. Mouillard,” Louis greeted him. “Ma femme, Bishou — ”

  “Mme. Dessant,” the banker greeted her, clasping her hand.

  “ — and of course, Monsieur Campard you know.”

  “Certainly. Welcome, welcome. Please, come into my office.”

  Bishou was aware of almost a pre-concerted effort as she walked between the men, into the banker’s private office. Louis and Etien knew where to sit without the banker motioning to seats. There was no question that Etien was tense. They’ve done this before, she thought suddenly. They’re repeating exactly what they did with the first Mme. Dessant.

  Bishou met the banker’s gaze. He was staring at her. She raised one brow. M. Mouillard saw, dropped his gaze, and tried not to smile. He’d been tense, too.

  Louis was unheeding. “Monsieur, we must arrange my wife’s signatures on my accounts.”

  M. Mouillard stared. “All of them, Monsieur?”

  “Oui, all of them.”

  Bishou and Etien, both equally surprised, spoke at once. Etien halted, and motioned to Bishou to speak.

  “Louis, I am not sure that is such a good idea. I was thinking more of a household account, where both you and I could transfer funds to pay household bills — ”

  “Yes, that would be a good arrangement.” Etien almost interrupted her in his anxiety.

  Louis Dessant’s hand hit the arm of his chair imperatively. “Non.” At their silence, he said determinedly, “Above all, I must be able to trust again. I must be able to trust my wife, do you see? I must.”

  Etien Campard sighed, knowing he had just hit bedrock.

  Bishou sat back in silence, meeting her husband’s gaze. At last, she said quietly, “I see you have thought about this.”

  “Assuredly,” said Louis. “It isn’t about the money. It is about the trust.”

  “Monsieur Mouillet’s job,” Etien interjected mildly, “is about the money.” At least he had learned not to take Louis head-on. “How best to satisfy him? And, for that matter, me? We’re in the same room, in the same chairs, you know.”

  Louis smiled, across Bishou, at Etien. “At least this time, you are admitting you’re frightened, mon frère.”

  “Petrified,” Etien admitted.

  His admission made them all laugh, including M. Mouillet. The banker said, “For all the conversations in this office about love, trust, and money, my job never gets any easier. The final decisions, of course, are yours, Monsieur Dessant. But I encourage you to work this out among you. Monsieur Campard is your partner in business. Mme. Dessant is your partner in life.” That was the perfect thing to say, Bishou thought.

  “Louis, I am going to be receiving a université paycheck,” Bishou said. “It has been my intention all along to open a small account here, and use that paycheck as my argent. I don’t want to take and take and take from you. I don’t want to be a parasite — and you don’t like parasites, either.” Despite herself, her voice gentled. “I did not marry you for your money.”

  Louis smiled at her. “I know. We can discuss why you married me later. But I want to give you things. That’s different from a woman who takes everything from me, ma Bishou.”

  M. Mouillet said reasonably, “Might I suggest a savings account for you, then, Mme. Dessant? As a separate account, it carries separate government insurance, and if you won’t be writing checks on it — just cashing paychecks or depositing to your savings — it might be all you need.”

  Bishou turned to Louis and smiled. “And it falls under government guidelines for full reimbursement if the bank fails — unlike your accounts, Louis, which have too much money in them to qualify. So if we must move to a little apartment in Saint-Denis if our bank’s fortunes reverse, we will not starve.”

  Louis eyed her for a moment. “How do you know so much about government bank insurance?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m from Boston. The motto of the entire city of Boston is ‘Don’t touch the principal.’”

  Monsieur Mouillet snickered appreciatively at a banking joke, which he was sure to be sharing with his friends at dinner tonight. “Madame, do you have any familiarity with bookkeeping? Truly, if you can journal what you spent on which purpose, the drawing account will not matter. The journaling would also help for tax purposes, not to mention such things as entries for a clothing allowance, or a grocery allowance.” He was using financial terms with someone he knew would understand them.

  “Who reconciles your bank accounts?” Bishou asked Louis.

  “Anna and Claire,” both men replied at once.

  “Good. They double-check each other, and have the business’s interests at heart,” said Bishou.

  Etien admitted, “That was one of the changes I made — after — after our last major mistake.”

  “It was a sensible thing we should have been doing all along,” Louis agreed, “but it took a disaster to see it.”

  “They are good women, too,” said Bishou.

  “Oui, they are,” said Etien.

  “You must have been responsible for a great deal of reinforcing of the business,” Bishou said to Etien admiringly. He blushed as if he had been told he was a candidate for Mister Universe.

  Louis chuckled again. “We will buy each other drinks later,” he said. “Now, let’s settle this.”

  “Bien, mon mari.” Bishou sat forward, paying attention to him. “Tell me what you want.”

  “Now those are the words I like to hear from my wife,” said Louis, and Etien grinned.

  “Do you think we should have two checking accounts, though?” she asked, “just to make certain they’re insured? One for daily use and one for special occasion?”

  The banker jumped in. “The special-occasion one, if only two or three checks are drawn on it per year, can earn a higher rate of interest. There is no interest on an ordinary drawing account.”

  Louis usually made snap decisions, and this was no different. He looked calculatingly at Bishou, then at Mouillard, and said, “Bon. Split my personal drawing account down the middle, Monsieur Mouillard, half in a regular drawing account and half at the special rate. The business account, monitored by Mlle. Aucoeur, which now has my name, Etien’s name, and the company treasurer’s signatures authorized for it, you will also add Mme. Dessant’s name, and we will change the rules on that account so that any check drawn for over one hundred thousand francs must have two signatures. D’accord?”

  M. Mouillard nodded, taking notes. “An excellent idea.”

  Etien leaned back, looking relieved. “I like that, too.”

  “My personal accounts, though.” He looked at Bishou. “Joint. Either signature for any amount.”

  Bishou took a deep breath, and dropped her gaze. “As you wish, mon mari.”

  “And a separate little savings account of your own. To make you feel better. A passbook account.”

  M. Mouillard excused himself for a moment, to get the paperwork going on these new accounts and changes. While he was gone, Louis moved his chair so that he was nearer Bishou.

  Louis kissed her hair and murmured, “I know you don’t like handling other people’s money, ma Bishou, but you have done it for your parents. You and Bat have paid their bills capably. And, you and your brother have taken care of your parents’ income taxes for countless years. This is no different.”

  Bishou could have given several different replies. Instead, she reached up to his face, and kissed him gently. For a moment, he looked surprised. Then he smiled. There was a light in those brown eyes that she could never have imagined.

  Monsieur Mouillard breezed back in, with forms for them to sign. There were even forms for Etien, to authorize changes on existing accounts, as well as forms for new accounts, closed accounts, special accounts. The business was concluded at dizzying speed. Bishou found herself tucking a savings passbook in her purse, already containing an opening deposit of a hundred thousand francs, from which she’d had to talk her husband down from five hundred thousand. There ha
d also been authorization forms for the printer to print new checkbooks for all the drawing accounts, since there was no account except the basic checkbook that remained unchanged.

  Once outside the bank, Etien said, “Whew.” Privately, Bishou agreed.

  “Now the lawyer,” said Louis, looking down the block at another building in the distance.

  “You don’t need me for that.” Etien leaned over and kissed Bishou. “Will Denise and I see you both for dinner on Friday?”

  “Oui,” said Louis. “Make plans for us, mon ami. We will be there.”

  “See you at work tomorrow,” said Etien, getting back in the Panhard and driving off.

  They walked down the street to a plain-looking stucco building, with a solicitor’s shingle hung out. These people were ready for Monsieur Dessant. In a few minutes, he and Bishou were in the lawyer’s private office, while they consulted about spousal benefits, the disposition of the business, and heirs. The lawyer promised to have the document ready for Louis’s signature in two days, and in the meantime, the old will would remain in effect, he warned. No mention of a wife and the property equally divided between the Campard children. The lawyer himself was the executor of the estate — him or his law office. Bishou was rather glad of that; she was afraid Louis would nominate Bat as executor, which might be sticky, as he was an American.

  Louis chuckled as he helped her into the car. “You look numb.”

  “I feel numb. Louis, a new professor makes 1200 francs per week, maybe.”

  “Really? I judge prices by what a pack of Dessants costs.” He was unperturbed as he got in the driver’s seat and began the drive out of town.

  She placed her hand on his arm. “Louis, I’m drowning in money.”

  Louis laughed. “You little college student, watching every franc. Forget the money, ma Bishou. Just forget about it. That business is over. You know better, don’t you? Life is worth much more than money.”

  “‘The love of money is the root of all evil,’” she quoted.

  He nodded. “The love of it. Not the money itself. It is there to buy food and shelter. No one likes to be robbed, myself included, but that is because it is a mark of disrespect, not because it is a red column in the ledger.”

  “I know. You are making perfect sense,” she admitted.

  He glanced at her as he drove. “And,” he added, “if I ever say anything different, just start unbuttoning your blouse. I will forget my entire argument instantly.”

  “What’s inside my blouse is not that valuable.”

  “To me it is.”

  Chapter 14

  Bettina opened the front door as they approached. They saw a light in the salon, and glanced in. Surprisingly, Bat was sitting in Louis’s usual place on the couch, with his lamp. Even more surprisingly, Adrienne was curled up next to him, barefoot, looking at something in his hands. “Bonjour,” Bat greeted them. “The boys are at Campards’. Want to see how pretty you look?”

  “Are those the wedding photographs?” Louis asked. He waved Bat back to his seat when he started to move. “Non, non, mon frère, stay where you are.” He turned on another lamp, drew over a chair, and examined the photographs as Adrienne passed them to him. Bishou looked over his shoulder. Thank goodness, she thought, not like those stilted French photographs. Here were the Dessants, the Campards, and the Howards, smiling at each other. Here was the wedding breakfast, in the yard. Here was one with the Prefect and his wife in casual clothes, sharing a joke with them. And one of Bat pouring champagne for the American ambassador and his wife.

  “We don’t look like corpses propped up, do we?” said Bat.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Bishou agreed.

  “Pfui.” Adrienne slapped Bat’s arm disapprovingly, and shook her head. “You are all beautiful. Here’s the one that was sent to the Journal de l’Ile and the Paris Gazette.” Louis and Bishou, smiling slightly at each other. “Are you putting together a wedding album?”

  “I am,” said Louis, at the same moment Bishou said, “He is.” Then Bishou added, “Louis is far more organized than me about such things.”

  “Pfah,” said Louis. “This from the woman who just finished a doctoral dissertation.” The pair on the couch was laughing at them. They really mesh well, Bishou thought suddenly. How did I miss this?

  “How did you spend your afternoon?” Adrienne asked them.

  Louis shook his head. “Signing papers. Bank accounts. Wills and letters of intent.”

  “Lotta responsibility,” said Bat in laconic English.

  Bishou nodded. “Burned out and crashed. Needed to come up for air.”

  Adrienne looked blank. Amused, Louis translated into French for her. Adrienne smiled understandingly. “Money is like water, isn’t it? One misses it if it’s not there, either to bathe in or to drink. But otherwise, nice people don’t think twice about it.”

  Louis laughed. “That is a better explanation than mine, ma soeur!”

  “How did you spend your afternoon?” Bishou asked them.

  “Oh,” said Adrienne, “I went upstairs and took a bath, then changed into these new, pretty clothes. Then I asked Bettina to do some laundry for me, and she said she was happy to. By then, Jean-Baptiste was back. He had stopped at the wedding photographer, and picked up the photographs. So we have looked at them.”

  “How much do we owe you?” Bishou asked him.

  Bat named a figure. “Since we’ll be going home soon, I won’t say no to some money for them.”

  “I’ll give it to you tomorrow morning. I don’t think I have that much cash in the house,” said Louis.

  “All right. Cash makes no enemies.”

  “Will it bother you to receive it in francs?”

  “Not at all. I’ll have a use for it, sooner or later.”

  “And I think we’ve already put Caisse de La Réunion to the test enough,” Bishou said to Louis. He smiled agreement.

  Bat looked down at Adrienne, leaning against his arm. “Want to go over to the Campards with me? I think these two want to be alone.”

  “Bonne idée,” Adrienne agreed. “Let me get my purse.”

  “What for?” Bat asked. “So you can have your identity card on you if I drive off without you?”

  “Don’t be foolish, and let me get my purse,” Adrienne shot back, leaving the room.

  “That’s telling him, Adrienne,” Bishou said approvingly, in a low voice.

  “Supper at seven,” said Louis. “It will be cooler by then.”

  Bat rose from the couch. “All right.” He smiled, that cynical smile, and went out the front door. They heard the rasp of a match as he lit a cigarette on the way. Then they heard Adrienne’s little footsteps, coming down the stairs.

  “Enjoy yourselves,” Bishou called.

  “Aussi,” Adrienne laughed. They heard the door close behind her, then heard her voice and Bat’s.

  Louis shook his head. “Mon Dieu, there was my greatest danger, going away happily, with friends.”

  “I know.” Bishou stood, and reached out her hand to Louis.

  Louis smiled. They climbed the stairs to the third floor together.

  Louis closed the bedroom door behind them, turned, and took off his shirt. He laid it on the bedroom chair. His other clothes soon followed.

  Bishou washed her makeup off. She came out to a naked man, who embraced her and pulled her clothes down from her shoulders. In a few moments, she was naked too, and they were lying upon the bed together.

  “Paradise,” they said at the same time.

  Bishou pressed her chest against his, and kissed his face. “I never thought I would be doing this with a man of my own.”

  “I had lost all hope of ever doing this again.” Louis stroked her. Resting comfortably against her body, he kissed her breasts and said, “These end arguments, you know.”

  “I don’t know. I give you whatever you want, mon mari.” She gasped as his lips and teeth touched her breasts, and his fingers stroked and pro
bed. This mad feeling — this was what desire was all about. “Ah, oui, oui.”

  She felt Louis chuckle. “This is what you want, ma femme?”

  “Oui, Papa.”

  “Why Papa?” He slid up more solidly on her body, and added, “Never mind.”

  Bishou let him stroke her breasts. Apparently they fascinated him. Louis lay on one side, tracing a path with one finger. They lay comfortably like this for a very long time, watching the sun set, hearing the evening noises of the birds outside.

  “Here,” Louis said at last, in that peaceful, contented voice, “your body is like the Goddess, in the old stories, la Mère de la Réunion.” He tweaked one nipple, then the other. “The mounds of the volcanoes. Piton de la Fournaise, Piton des Neiges.” His finger traced a line to her navel. She took in a breath as he pushed his finger in her navel. “A caldera, une Cirque.” His finger drew a line down far beyond her navel. This time, when he pressed with his finger, she cried out. “Another caldera, une Cirque.”

  She fought to control her breath. “Doesn’t that legend say — that Father Sky comes to rest on Mother Earth? Isn’t that what they say when the clouds rest on the island?”

  “Oui, it is.” He smiled, and rested himself on top of her body. He kissed her lips again and again. Bishou loved his soft lips. She wrapped her arms around him and stroked him while she returned his kisses. Of course, she really had no standard of comparison; but she found it hard to believe that other lovers made love this strongly, this often. Maybe Mama Jo had guessed what Louis’s experiences had done to him, or guessed how a body like Bishou’s would excite him.

  After this round of lovemaking, Louis took her in his arms and murmured, “I think I heard the boys come back. We must get up and dress for dinner.”

  They went downstairs to find the boys and Adrienne already at table, having lemonade and waiting for them. Now Bettina and Madeleine served dinner. It was a cheerful, happy family dinner — so unlike what Louis was used to! — that made them laugh and laugh.

  Bishou had called him Papa. Surely Louis had to realize that, soon, the laughter would come from their own children around this table.