Beauregard Clay was buried by his grieving father and a multitude of friends three days later. In death he had taken on a stature that he had never enjoyed in life. His father would have liked the ceremony to have a semblance of privacy but that proved to be impossible. The staid and respectable felt it their duty to be present, and Beau’s contemporaries came from as far away as La Jolla and New York. Not until they actually saw the lifeless body being laid to rest in the family mausoleum would they be able to believe that Beau was really dead. Young women the Judge had never set eyes on before wept uncontrollably as the cortège made its way to the St Louis Cemetery in Basin Street, where the Clay mausoleum had stood, receiving its family members, since the city had been founded on the swamp beneath its streets. Judge Clay had no intention of burying his wayward son elsewhere.
The Judge’s face was haggard, deep lines etched from nose to mouth and furrowing his brow as his elder, remaining son, walked at his side. The storm clouds that could blow up with such unexpectedness and ferocity over the city, threatened in the distance.
When the cortège reached the cemetery Beau’s out-of-state friends eyed their surroundings uneasily. The usual swift, neat cremations amongst rose-laid gardens had been no preparation for Beau’s burial. Monolithic tombs, like tenements, towered above the ground. The dead seemed literally to press in on them on either side and more than one New Yorker wished he hadn’t made the trip.
Mae Jefferson stood beside her mother, shivering despite the steaming heat of the afternoon. She had not wanted to come but her mother had been adamant. Respect had to be shown. Besides, the Judge would notice which families had attended and which had not, and he was a very influential man.
Mae looked away as the priest officiated beside the ebony casket lying on the catafalque, not listening as the well-known words rolled sonorously over the bowed heads around her. In the distance she could see the tomb of Etienne de Bore, the first planter to make sugar a commercial enterprise in the South. And somewhere, unknown and unmarked, lay the rotting bones of Marie Laveau, infamous Voodoo Queen of Old New Orleans.
Her grandmother had told her many tales of Marie Laveau and her supernatural powers: tales her mother discounted and refused to listen to. But Mae knew voodoo was real. Her grandmother had told her so.
There was a distant rumble of thunder and a few of the bowed heads turned, eyeing the sky and calculating how long it would be before they were caught in a torrential downpour. Tina Lafayette’s sobs were heard above the noise. Charles Lafayette stood apart from her, disassociating himself from a spectacle that could only give rise to gossip. There was no sign of Gussie.
Mae closed her eyes and dug her nails into her palms. She hated her mother for forcing her to endure such an ordeal. Somewhere in the vast crowd she had seen Eden’s dark head and wished that Eden were standing next to her.
‘… ashes to ashes, dust to dust …’
The macabre, swathed corpse was ceremoniously lifted from the coffin and carried into the giant mausoleum. There it was placed on a stone shelf. The hot, dry air would accomplish the rest.
The sun-tanned blonde from La Jolla screamed and was hastily shushed by those around her. New Orleans burials were unlike any other. There was no room, no suitable burying land, for the luxury of coffins.
The mausoleum was sealed, the iron gates swung into place. Judge Clay looked momentarily disorientated and then walked with pathetic dignity back through the overgrown churchyard and towards his limousine, the mourners parting silently as they made way for him.
In the Lafayette mansion Gussie lay prostrate on the bed she had barely left since hearing of Beau’s death. Gold velvet drapes were drawn across the window, plunging the room into dark shadow. In her imagination she followed the funeral procession every step of the way, from the elegant Clay home to Beau’s final resting place amongst his ancestors. She knew that Eden was going with her mother; that Mae was going with hers. She knew that her father, out of respect for Judge Clay, was also attending. She, too, could have been there, but she could not have borne to be only one of a nameless crowd. To have her tears regarded on the same level as Mae’s. She wanted to wear a black dress and black silk stockings and a heavy veil over her face. She wanted people to be in awe of her grief: to feel their compassion for her suffering. To realize that she was the only person Beau Clay would have ever loved. She wanted to place a single rose on the lifeless body, to cry in private beside him.
She could not do so and so she did not go. She wept alone, convinced that joy would never enter her heart again.
‘I’m taking Gussie to Al Hirt’s Club on Bourbon Street later this evening, sir,’ Bradley said with the casual confidence that was an integral part of his personality. ‘The show doesn’t start till ten-thirty so it will be pretty late before I bring her home. I just wanted you to know I’ll take good care of her.’
‘I see.’ Charles Lafayette regarded Bradley Hampton over the broad expanse of his desk in the book-lined study. The jazz haunts of the city held no charm for him. He preferred the New Orleans Symphony Orchestra but despite taking Gussie several times, he had not been able to impart his love of classical music to his daughter. Normally, he would not have countenanced her going out to a jazz club until the early hours. However, Bradley Hampton wasn’t just any young man. He was an extremely personable one, and if he could lift Gussie from the strange depression from which she had been suffering this last month, Charles would be more than grateful to him.
Gussie’s father rose from behind his desk and held out his hand to Bradley. ‘Just make sure you keep your word, my boy.’
Bradley clasped the hand firmly and grinned. Charles Lafayette would have his hide if he didn’t keep his word. Besides, when it came to sex, it could be had easily and often any time of the day or night. He wanted something a little more from Gussie. Just what, he wasn’t yet prepared to admit, even to himself. Early marriage had never been part of his schemes for the future. But then neither had Gussie.
‘How dare you speak to my father behind my back!’ Gussie hissed. ‘I wouldn’t go to Al Hirt’s with you if you were the last man on earth!’
‘I’ll pick you up at nine o’clock,’ Bradley said calmly.
Gussie stamped a foot. ‘Are you deaf, Bradley Hampton? I said I wouldn’t …’
He covered the distance between them in one stride and grasped her wrist so hard that she cried out in pain.
‘I heard you, Gussie,’ he said, and something hot flickered at the back of his eyes. ‘Be ready when I come, and put some lipstick on. I like my girls to look special, not like colourless rabbits.’
Gussie gasped and fell back against the wall. He grinned, letting go of her, and strode, whistling, from the house.
Colourless rabbit! How dare he? Trembling with rage, Gussie stalked to her bedroom and sat in front of her dressing-table mirror. Her hair no longer shimmered so that it was the envy of all her friends. It had begun to look lifeless, hanging unbrushed and uncared for. Her eyes, with their thick sweep of dark lashes, were blue-shadowed, her cheeks pale. She looked as plain as Mae. Furiously, she picked up her silver-backed hairbrush and began to brush her hair vigorously. She was Augusta Lafayette. The acknowledged belle of her friends. At Mardi Gras she had been Queen of the Carnival: and Bradley Hampton had the nerve to indicate he was doing her a favour by escorting her in public!
When Bradley arrived at the Lafayette home at nine o’clock that evening, Charles Lafayette had a companionable glass of bourbon with him and was suitably pleased when his daughter finally put in an appearance at nine-thirty.
She was wearing a deceptively simple dress with a cowl neckline that brought discreet attention to the perfection of her breasts. The skirt fell softly over her hips; she was stockingless, her sun-tanned legs gleaming, her toenails lacquered a pearly pink. Her hair hung silkily down her back, her lips glossed, her lashes mascara-ed. She smiled sweetly at her father and glared malevolently at Bradley. But Bradley was indifferent, and, bidding Gussie’s father goodnight, ushered her into his Thunderbird, not even bothering to remark on her appearance.
Gussie seethed and vowed to hold on to her anger. She did, but it had no effect. Bradley was obviously intent on having a good time, whether she was or not. There were friends of his at the club that she had never seen before. Friends far more sophisticated than she had anticipated. There were women too. Beautiful and sleek, and there was no mistaking the reaction when their eyes rested on Bradley’s dark good looks. It was nice to be the object of so much female envy.
Despite herself, Gussie began to enjoy the evening.
By the time it was 3 a. m. and Bradley was saying goodbye to the friends they had joined, Gussie was reluctant to leave. Bradley merely shrugged and propelled her out into the sultry night air. By the time he got Gussie home and indoors, it would be four. He didn’t want to push his luck with Charles Lafayette too far.
‘That music was just great,’ she said dreamily as they sped down Bourbon Street and out of the French Quarter. ‘Do you go there often?’
‘Enough.’
She slid her eyes across at him in the dark. There was a negligence about Bradley that was intensely arousing. He had made no effort to attract the attention of the girls who had flocked around him. He was making no effort with her now. He was not heading out to the darkened lakeside as any other escort would have done. She had a strange feeling that he was not even going to attempt to kiss her goodnight. Looking at his mouth as the car flashed beneath the streetlights, she felt a surge of disappointment. There was no hint of cruelty about it, as there had been about Beau’s. No hardness. Bradley smiled easily and often and yet the sensuality was undeniable. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him, and then clenched her hands tightly in her lap. How could she think such things with Beau only dead a month? Hadn’t she vowed to grieve for him until the day she died? The Thunderbird turned into the oak-lined driveway of her home and she suppressed a sigh. Secretly, though she wouldn’t admit it to anyone but herself, there were moments that she forgot Beau. Tonight she hadn’t thought of him for hours. Until now.
Bradley turned to her as he halted the car. Gussie stiffened. Now she would have the pleasure of proving her fidelity.
‘Goodnight, Gussie,’ Bradley said, a hint of laughter in his voice as he walked round and opened her car door for her. ‘Thanks for a nice evening.’
Gussie was nonplussed. That had been her line, delivered archly and coldly, rocketing him to disappointment because he had been cheated of a goodnight kiss. Feeling slightly foolish she stepped on to the gravel.
‘Be seeing you,’ he said, and as she walked up the steps to the bronze-hinged mahogany door, he waved casually, got back into his car and sped away as if he had been depositing a parcel.
Gussie’s cheeks flamed with angry colour. He hadn’t even attempted to kiss her. He hadn’t even held her hand. What kind of boy was he? She flounced up to her room and savagely began lathering her face with cleansing cream. He wasn’t a boy. He was a man. That much was clear by the way every female eye had been drawn to him at the jazz club. Then why hadn’t he driven her to the darkened lake shore? Why hadn’t he attempted to make love to her? Why hadn’t he kissed her goodnight? Gussie climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling. He had kissed Mae. Mae had told her so. Mae had said that nothing further had happened, but there was no way Gussie could be completely sure. Why should Bradley want to kiss Mae and not want to kiss her? It didn’t make sense.
For the first time in a month she went to sleep with her mind full of someone other than Beau.
It was two weeks before Bradley got in touch with Gussie again, two weeks in which she had begun to suffer from headaches and to feel uneasy for no reason. Often, when walking with Mae or Eden, she would suddenly swing her head round as if someone had called her name. No one ever had, and Eden and Mae would exchange silent glances. But when Bradley finally called, Gussie suddenly felt free of that nameless anxiety that so constantly beset her. Bradley wanted only to take her out for an hour, to Audubon Park. It was nowhere special – had it been anyone else she would have felt insulted – but that afternoon she enjoyed herself. They wandered beside the winding lagoons and sat on the edge of one of the fountains, enjoying the fine spray that showered their heads and shoulders. They picnicked, surrounded by flowers and with a magnificent view of the Mississippi curving lazily seaward, and the hour stretched to two and then to three. They went into the zoo and fed nuts to the monkeys and watched the graceful prowling of the Bengal tiger. When Bradley led the way back to the car she felt flooded with disappointment.
The car doors clicked shut. Bradley adjusted his driving mirror. His shirt was open at the neck and she could see the strong muscles of his chest. She had an overwhelming urge to reach out and touch his skin. Feel the warmth of his flesh next to hers. She wondered why she had so consistently refused to date him and could not quite remember. ‘I’m meeting the Shreves and Austin and Mae at Ruby Red’s this evening,’ Bradley said, turning to look at her. ‘Do you fancy coming?’
‘Oh yes! I’d love to!’ Her eagerness had been spontaneous and unthinking. She flushed.
His white teeth flashed in a smile. ‘I’ll pick you up at seven.’
‘Yes. Thank you.’ She struggled to sound off-hand and fumbled for a cigarette.
He flicked his lighter and leaned across, steadying her hand.
Their eyes met. At his touch she had started to tremble. Seeing his look of intense desire, the blood burned in her veins.
‘I love you, Augusta Lafayette,’ he said softly, oblivious of the families piling in and out of the cars parked around them. ‘I love you and some day I’m going to marry you.’ And then he switched the car into life, sweeping out into St Charles Avenue and towards the Lafayette home before Gussie could even catch her breath.
The Shreve boys made her laugh. Mae, whose hand barely left Austin’s for the whole of the evening, was overjoyed to see her. It was good to be out again; to be the centre of attention; to know that if she wanted, she could have both Don and Jason Shreve eating out of the palm of her hand. Her spine tingled with suppressed excitement. It was good to be with Bradley, too. She wondered if he’d meant what he’d said to her that afternoon. There was nothing in his manner now to indicate that he had. Desirée Ashington, the local siren, had made a bee-line for him the minute they had entered, greeting him with undue familiarity. He had not seemed to object. Even now he seemed to be enjoying her attention. Her halter top was indecently low. Gussie pretended not to notice the intimacy of their conversation but Mae’s eyes were sympathetic. Desirée had even tried to add Austin’s scalp to her collection. She had failed and it had been then that Mae had agreed to marry him. At last Mae knew he wasn’t just going out with her until someone prettier came along. He loved her, just as he said he did.
Desirée continued to dominate Bradley’s attention and the angrier Gussie became, the more she hid it, laughing with apparent delight at an inane joke of Austin’s, raising the Shreve boys’ hopes by giving them her undivided attention.
As Bradley drove her home she sank into outraged silence, her shoulders tense, her hands clasped tightly around her knees. Instead of taking the turning for her home, Bradley continued to drive out of the city and towards the woods and the lakeside. It was what Gussie had secretly wanted him to do ever since their first date. She swung round in her seat.
‘Just where do you think you are going, Bradley Hampton?’
Bradley changed gear, slipped a look into his driving mirror and said leisurely, ‘Taking you somewhere quiet and dark so I can kiss the hell out of you.’
Gussie choked, her eyes glazing. ‘You turn this car round immediately, Bradley Hampton! If you want to take anyone to the woods, take Desirée! She’d love every minute of it!’
‘I dare say she would,’ Bradley agreed with infuriating calm. ‘Only I’m not taking Desirée, I’m taking you.’
‘Oh no you’re not! I’m not one of your cheap little tarts! One of your easy pick-ups!’
The city lights were behind them. The road was shadowed by trees and was dark. Bradley pulled over to the verge and switched off the engine.
‘I never made a habit of going out with tarts,’ he said, his lazy Southern drawl suddenly very pronounced. ‘Neither have I ever made it a habit to go out with people who bore me. I’m very likely to do just as you demand, Gussie, and turn the car around and drive you home. Because that’s what you’re beginning to do – bore me.’
Gussie sobbed and drew back her hand to deliver a stinging blow to his cheek. Her wrist was caught in a steel-like grip. There was amusement in his blue eyes.
‘If I didn’t know you better, Augusta Lafayette, I’d say you were jealous.’
Gussie struggled but could not free herself. ‘How dare you say such a thing! Me? Jealous of Desirée? And because of you?’ The more she writhed to escape his grip, the more his amusement deepened.
‘I think I’ve been patient with you long enough, Gussie.’ His eyes lingered on her mouth and a little pulse began to beat wildly in her throat. At last he was going to kiss her. Against her will and by force.
‘I meant what I said this afternoon, Gussie, and before I take you home this evening, you’re going to say the same thing to me.’
‘No …’ Her breath was coming in harsh gasps. ‘Never!’
She tried to pull away from him, but he held her easily, his mouth coming down on hers in swift, unfumbled contact. She twisted violently, freeing one arm, but instead of pushing him away she circled his neck, her lips parting willingly beneath his, her body aflame with the desire that had previously existed only in her imagination.
‘Gussie, sweet, darling Gussie.’
There was a depth of feeling in his voice that startled her. This was no casual encounter. This was the real thing. This was Bradley Hampton telling her he loved her. That he wanted to marry her. Bradley Hampton who was heir to millions; whose family was as prestigious as the Lafayettes. Bradley Hampton, whom every girl in New Orleans would have given a year of her life to date. Bradley Hampton, who had dark hair and laughing blue eyes, and whom her father would approve of.
He wound his fingers in her hair, pulling her head back so she was forced to meet his compelling gaze.
‘Tell me you love me, Gussie.’
There was a menacing edge to his voice.
Gussie wanted him to kiss her again, to feel the sweetness of his lips on hers.
His hand twisted tightly in her hair. ‘Tell me, Gussie!’
Desperately she thought of Beau, but Beau was dead. Beau would never hold her as Bradley did. Beau would never kiss her until her bones melted.
‘I love you,’ she whispered helplessly. ‘I love you, and I’ll marry you.’
The Hamptons were pleased. Mrs Hampton had not anticipated her only son marrying so young, but, she reflected, Bradley had never yet made a decision he had regretted. Mr Hampton silently congratulated himself for his good fortune. Augusta Lafayette was one of the three daughters-in-law to whom he had secretly given his seal of approval.
Charles Lafayette, after a few days’speculation, was also pleased. Gussie had begun to worry him lately. She had continued to be unusually withdrawn and introspective. Brooding when she should have been laughing. Silent when she should have been gaily chattering. Marriage to Bradley Hampton would dispel her moroseness. There was a likeable maturity about Bradley. He would make Gussie happy. And there would be no more sleepless nights worrying about fortune hunters and other such undesirables.
Mae was slightly disappointed that Gussie had not done as she had promised, and devoted her life to unrequited love. It would have been so romantic. She used to sink into unusual silence whenever anyone mentioned Beau Clay’s name, but, fortunately, her fears had proved groundless. She was glad she had not divulged them to the practical Eden. Gussie was blatantly happy. Bradley would look after her.
Gussie was in seventh heaven. First there was her eighteenth birthday party in August and then there was her wedding to look forward to. It was planned for October and was eagerly entered into social diaries.
All through the hot, sultry summer, Gussie told her friends that she had never been so happy in her life. At the masqued balls and parties, the parades and barbecues, she was like a diamond, a host of facets seeming to sparkle at once as she laughed and danced, her handsome husband-to-be at her side.
‘Everything is perfect, just perfect,’ she said happily to Mae and Eden as she swung on the old porch swing. ‘I never dreamed I could be so happy.’
‘I’m going to marry Austin early next year,’ Mae said, sipping on her iced mint julep. She giggled. ‘Mrs Mae Merriweather. It’s quite a mouthful isn’t it? What’s the matter, Gussie? You’re not listening to me.’
Gussie had halted the gentle rocking of the swing and was looking around her with a bewildered expression in her eyes.
It’s nothing Mae. I just thought someone called my name.’
‘For goodness’sake. I thought you’d stopped all that ages ago. Look at your arms. You’ve got goose bumps. There must be something wrong with your blood.’
A dragon-fly hovered above them in the motionless air.
Gussie rubbed her arms and sat down, her eyes troubled. ‘I keep thinking someone’s looking at me. It’s most weird.’
‘Someone usually is,’ Eden said complacently, swirling the ice cubes round in her glass. ‘With your hair and eyes you can’t expect anything else.’
Gussie laughed, dismissing the uneasy feeling that assailed her with such unpleasant regularity.
‘Let’s have another drink. We’re big girls now,’ Eden said, wondering if she should point out to Gussie that Bradley was uncannily like Beau in lots of respects. Not as intimidating, of course. There was nothing satanic in Bradley’s handsomeness. Still, he had a way of commanding respect from even the oldest and most revered of New Orleans citizens, and his thick black hair and teasing eyes were nearly as devastating as Beau’s film-star looks had been. But Eden kept her thoughts to herself. She alone had seen the extent of Gussie’s hysteria after Beau Clay’s death. It would be a long time before she forgot the sight of Gussie, her eyes vacant with grief, her hair tumbling around her shoulders in wild disarray, her gown the one she had worn for the silly ritual the night before. Even to think of it caused the nape of her neck to prickle unpleasantly.
‘Only the best French champagne,’ Charles Lafayette said sternly over the phone to the caterers. ‘I don’t want any corner-cutting.’
He rose from his desk, puffing on a cigar as he strode to the study windows that overlooked St Michel’s rolling lawns. He’d planned everything himself, down to the last detail. Gussie’s birthday party was going to be the most memorable event of the year – apart from her wedding. There were going to be no hired, second-rate musicians playing at his daughter’s big day. He’d paid for the best there was, and it had cost him. He didn’t care. He puffed on his cigar contentedly. He’d gone as far as Houston for the experts who were mounting the firework display. Gussie had gone to Paris with his sister Tina for her dress. He smiled a rare smile. Tina had spent even more than Gussie on their whirlwind trip across the Atlantic. Invitations to the party had been practically begged for by the most elite of New Orleans. The guest list had been ruthless, composed almost entirely of families whose names went back to the days of the Battle of New Orleans. Gallatins and St Clairs; Lafittes and Delatours. Far-flung Lafayettes were going to meet together for the first time in living memory. Cousins and second-cousins, uncles and great-uncles, aunts and nieces had been summoned from every corner of the globe, their travelling expenses paid for by himself, and all had eagerly accepted. It was going to be a party to end all parties and Augusta was going to look magnificent. He rocked back on his heels in satisfaction. His little girl. She’d looked like a fairy princess at Mardi Gras. She would look like a dream come true on the night of her birthday. Cigar smoke wreathed his head. Nothing had ever blighted Augusta’s life. Nothing ever would. He wouldn’t allow it. Not as long as he had breath in his body.
He turned once more and sat at his desk. The flower arrangements for the house and garden still had to be decided upon. For dramatic effect he had stipulated that every bloom must be white. It would be a stunning contrast to the more usual riots of colour.
‘I had to practically plead with Daddy to allow Eden and her parents to come to my birthday party,’ Gussie said happily, her arm wound through Bradley’s as they strolled through City Park. She giggled. ‘He actually referred to them as upstart Yankees, and they’re French Canadians. Can you imagine how mad Mr Alexander would be if he knew? Daddy also allowed invitations to go to the Jeffersons, although he wasn’t happy about it. Mrs Jefferson isn’t his favourite person, but he was very nice about it, considering …’
‘Considering what?’ Bradley asked, gazing down at her with amusement.
The smile faded from Gussie’s face and a troubled expression touched her eyes. ‘Oh, he’s never liked the fact that Mae is my closest friend.’
Bradley raised a querying brow. ‘Why? The Jeffersons are pillars of New Orleans society and have been from time immemorial.’
‘I know. It’s silly.’ Her arm tightened around his waist. ‘It’s just that years ago Mae’s grandmother and mine were as close as sisters and …’
‘And what?’ Bradley asked tenderly.
She gave a little shrug. ‘Mae’s grandmother went dotty and lives all alone, way out in the bayous and my grandmother …’
Bradley waited expectantly.
Gussie forced a smile. ‘My grandmother died young.’
Committed suicide: drowned herself. Should she tell him? Would he think her grandmother as crazy as Mae’s?
To tell him now would spoil their sun-filled afternoon. She would tell him later. Bradley wouldn’t mind. He loved her too much to mind about a thing like that.
The shadow touched her lightly, the whisper barely audible. She swung round swiftly.
‘Hey, what is it?’ Bradley asked, steadying her. ‘You’ll twist an ankle doing that.’
‘Did you see it, Bradley?’ she asked urgently, all thoughts of her grandmother vanishing, her face strained. ‘It’s gone now, but it was there, I swear it was!’
Bradley frowned, circling her shoulders with his arms and feeling her tremble. ‘What was, sweetheart?’
Gussie shivered. ‘A shadow. It falls across me from nowhere. You must have seen it.’
He shook his head, pulling gently at her arm, but she remained standing in the pathway, gazing round her with bewildered eyes. ‘It’s always happening, Bradley. It makes me feel so strange. There’s never anybody there.’
Bradley shrugged. ‘Then there’s nothing to worry about,’ he said reasonably.
‘Yes, but …’ She halted. She couldn’t tell Bradley that she kept hearing her name called. Her eyes swept the pathway and gardens once more. There was no one within two hundred yards of them. Reluctantly she turned and continued walking.
‘But what?’ Bradley prompted.
‘Nothing,’ Gussie said miserably. ‘I guess it was my imagination after all.’
Bradley gave her a searching look. It wasn’t the first time Gussie had swung round to face someone who was not there. Her nerves were getting jumpy and he blamed her father. He was making far too much of an event of her birthday party. He pulled her head down on his shoulder. When they were married there would be no repeat of the Paris nonsense. If Gussie went away it would be with him. Charles Lafayette might love her to idolatry, but Charles didn’t know what was best for her. He, Bradley, did. The scent of her hair sent the blood coursing through his veins. He was going to love her and look after her for the rest of his life.
‘Eighteen years old,’ Charles Lafayette said his eyes suspiciously bright as he gave her a birthday kiss. ‘I find it hard to believe, Augusta. It seems only yesterday that you were a baby.’
A spasm of pain crossed his face as he thought of his long-dead wife and the pleasure she would have gained from their beautiful daughter if she had lived.
‘This was your mother’s,’ he said gently, handing her a satin-ribboned box. ‘I bought if for her on our first wedding anniversary.’
‘Oh Daddy!’ Gussie’s violet-dark eyes glowed. Reverently she undid the satin bow and lifted the white embossed lid.
The bracelet lay on a bed of black velvet, diamonds and sapphires flashing as if with an inner life.
Gussie gasped and lifted the bracelet from the box. She allowed her father to clasp it around her wrist. In link after link, diamonds circled sapphires like petals around the hearts of flowers.
‘It’s beautiful, Daddy. I’ve never seen anything so lovely. Not ever.’
Charles Lafayette smiled indulgently. ‘It will have to be returned to the bank vault after this evening, I’m afraid. It’s much too valuable to be kept in the house.’
‘But I can wear it tonight, Daddy, can’t I?’ Her pretty face was anxious.
He laughed. ‘Of course you may, darling. Tonight you’re going to be a princess.’
She kissed his cheek and then sat, long after he had left the breakfast room, gazing at the breathtaking stones that encircled her wrist. Her mother, too, must have sat thus, overwhelmed at the beauty that had been given to her. Love welled up in her. Love for the mother she had never known. Love for her father. Love for Bradley. Tonight was going to be wonderful. The most wonderful night of her life.
‘Now you sit still so I don’t muss up your hair,’ Allie chided, slipping the billowing confection of taffeta and tulle over Augusta’s head. ‘My, my, but this surely is some dress. I reckon even Kreeger’s don’t get dresses in like this.’
‘This dress is a Dior original,’ Gussie said, stepping in front of her full-length mirror and turning first one way and then another. ‘Isn’t is gorgeous, Allie? Have you ever seen anything so divine?’
‘I can’t say that I have,’ Allie said truthfully, surveying the delicately ruched bodice of pale lemon, the shoulder straps so fine that they seemed non-existent.
Gussie twirled around and the layered ballerina skirts of hand embroidered tulle floated ethereally around her like a cloud. Ecstatically she slipped her sheer stockinged feet into a pair of white satin slippers. Her nails were laquered palest pink, her lips glossed prettily. On her wrist the bracelet sparkled and shone. She looked a million dollars and knew it.
Tingling with excitement she gave one last look in the mirror and walked slowly out onto the landing and towards the head of the curving staircase.
Bradley was at the foot and the expression in his eyes sent a warm flush to her cheeks. Her father and Tina stood beside him and there was a concerted intake of breath from the assembled household staff as she appeared. Horatio, the chauffeur, began to sing ‘Happy Birthday’and everyone, her father included, joined in.
Almost shyly she descended the stairs and was given birthday kisses from every member of the staff, from Louis, the butler, to Sabina Royal, the cook.
Orchids and roses and freesias banked the marble hallway, the scent heady in the early evening air. Outside thousands of the same plants had been specially bedded so that St Michel’s vast grounds were a symphony of white blossom interspersed with twinkling fairylights.
The breath caught in the back of Bradley’s throat as he took her hand. She had never looked more beautiful. Happiness seemed to radiate from her. The glow in her eyes put the jewels on her wrist to shame. Her hair gleamed like spun gold. She was the princess from the fairy stories of his childhood. He wanted to kiss her more than he had wanted anything else in the world but he could not. Her father was watching them benignly. Her guests were waiting.
‘I love you,’ he whispered to her as they stepped outside and the band began to play. ‘I could no more live without you than cease to breathe.’
Her fingers interlocked with his. The heat of his body seemed to flare through her. ‘Happy Birthday’was being sung again. She was inundated with presents and good wishes. She laughed and smiled and wished that she were alone with Bradley. Desire had sprung up in her like a flame. She wanted more than kisses and caresses. She wanted to be made love to. She wanted to belong to Bradley body and soul.
‘Darling Augusta, you look absolutely wonderful,’ Natalie Jefferson gushed, kissing her on both cheeks.
‘That dress!’ Eden’s mother said wonderingly. ‘I’ve never seen anything so exquisite. Did it come from New York?’
‘Paris,’ Gussie said, removing herself from a warm embrace and moving on to pay her respects to her Lafayette relations as Mrs Alexander watched her with envy in her eyes.
‘Paris,’ she whispered to her husband. ‘Can you imagine it? A Paris gown at eighteen.’
‘Very pretty,’ her husband agreed, his eyes straying appreciatively over the scores of young girls who flocked around like so many butterfliès.
Eden was wearing a searing pink gown of shot silk taffeta, strapless and ruched with such full skirts that it was impossible for her to sit down. Mae was unexpectedly pretty in a pale-blue, demurely high-necked dress that fell in soft folds over her full hips. A Burmese pearl necklace was her only jewellery and Austin escorted her proudly. Mae was evolving her own style of dressing and it was one that suited her. Desirée Ashington had abandoned demureness altogether. Her figure-hugging black dress was split to the navel, revealing a cleavage that left Mr Alexander breathless.
The cream of New Orleans society glided in and out of the lavish marquee, the men elegant in tuxedos, the women alluring in diaphanous pastels.
Family heirlooms had been removed from vaults and safes. Diamonds and rubies vied with amethysts and pearls. Earrings, necklaces, bracelets, brooches, studs and pendants glittered and shone.
The band struck up the first waltz of the evening and Bradley led Gussie away from her doting relatives. He held her closely in his arms, dancing her round and round as the evening sky took on a bluish tinge and the first sprinkling of stars began to gleam. Her breasts rose temptingly from the bodice of her gown.
‘Do you know what you do to my temperature dancing next to me half-naked?’ Bradley said, tightening his arms around her.
‘Sssh,’ Gussie giggled. ‘Someone will hear you.’
His lips brushed her temples and she closed her eyes blissfully. She was the envy of all her friends. The luckiest girl in New Orleans.
The waltz changed to a quickstep, a foxtrot, a waltz again. Reluctantly Bradley released her and allowed her to dance with a procession of uncles and cousins. Dusk turned to night. Fireflies danced amongst the trees; a galaxy of fairylights illuminated St Michel’s lawns as dance followed dance.
With a flourish Charles Lafayette bade the musicians refresh themselves with pink champagne and ordered that the firework display should begin.
There were gasps of delight and screams of pleasure as giant Roman candles whoosed into the air, scattering golden rain; as enormous Catherine wheels spun in galaxies of colour; as rockets trailed crimson streaks across the sky. Then, as everyone laughingly held flaring sparklers, Gussie’s birthday cake was brought ceremoniously from the house. Circled by hundreds of relatives and friends Gussie cut the first piece and then, as the last of the fireworks died away, entered Bradley’s arms as the band began to play ‘Blue Moon’.
‘Happy, sweetheart?’ he asked tenderly, his lips touching her ivory-pale hair.
‘Oh yes!’ Her eyes shone as she lifted her face to his.
Her lips were parted. Soft and inviting. Unheeding of the guests who danced and laughed and chatted around them Bradley lowered his head to hers. Joy surged through her. She loved him so much it was a physical pain. Slowly he lifted his head from hers, his teasing blue eyes dark with need.
‘I love you, Gussie. I shall always love you.’
She traced the strong outline of his jaw with her fingertips ‘I love you, too, Brad. And I shall forever and forever and for—’
One moment his face was above her and the next it was spiralling into the distance. She was falling amidst a vortex of brilliant colours and black rushing winds. She tried to call his name but no sound would come from her throat. The colours clashed and seared against the back of her eyes. The wind deafened her, sucking her down so that she could hardly breathe. Vainly her hands sought to hold on to him and failed. The colours vanished. Only darkness remained.
‘Gussie!’ He seized hold of her as she fell, scooping her up into his arms, and ran white-faced through the mass of startled dancers and towards the house.
‘What happened? Did Gussie faint?’
‘I’ve never seen anything like it. She went out like a light.’
‘Is she sick? What if …’
The music faltered and, at a frantic signal from Tina Lafayette, continued playing, barely audible above the buzz of speculation.
‘Find Dr Meredith,’ Charles Lafayette snapped, hurrying after Bradley as he carried an unconscious Gussie into the main drawing room. ‘He was down near the pool. Get him here immediately!’
As Bradley laid her on a sofa, Gussie moaned, her lashes fluttering, her carefully manicured hands reaching up to her throat as if it had been bruised.
‘Water,’ Bradley ordered a dazed aunt, without releasing his hold on Gussie or taking his eyes from her face. ‘Fetch her some water.’
Charles Lafayette moved forward, attempting to take his daughter from Bradley’s grasp. Bradley ignored him as if he were no more than one of the guests. The glass of water was proffered over the shoulders of over a dozen anxious relatives.
‘Here, sweetheart. Drink this.’ Gently Bradley lifted her head.
The long lashes stirred again and then opened, wide dark eyes staring around in frightened bewilderment.
‘I’m here, Gussie.’
Her eyes met his and she sobbed, flinging her arms around his neck, sending the glass of water flying to the floor. ‘Oh Brad! Brad! Hold me! Please hold me!’
Charles Lafayette cleared his throat and wished to God there weren’t so many witnesses to his daughter’s distress.
‘What happened, darling?’ He was rocking her in his arms with the tenderness of absolute love.
‘I don’t know. I suddenly felt so cold and sick …’
Dr Meredith pushed his way through Lafayettes and Delatours and knelt at the side of the sofa. With strong, capable hands he felt her pulse, took her temperature and then rose to his feet with a sign of relief. From the garbled message he had received, he had expected to find Gussie on the point of death. Already the colour was returning to her cheeks.
‘A faint,’ he said reassuringly to Charles Lafayette, and then, echoing the words of the elderly cousin, pronounced, ‘Too much excitement. There’s nothing to worry about.’
Gussie sipped at the water and gazed at him with anxious eyes. ‘Can I go back outside, Dr Meredith? I feel all right now. Truly I do.’
Jim Meredith smiled. ‘I’d be the last one to spoil your party, Augusta. As soon as you feel the strength return to your legs you can go and continue dancing. But no champagne!’
Gussie managed a tremulous smile. ‘I promise.’
A new expression entered her eyes. ‘You don’t think people will think it was the champagne that caused me to faint, do you? I’ve had only two glasses and I don’t think I finished either of them.’
‘They’d better not,’ Charles Lafayette said grimly. ‘Are you sure she should continue dancing, Jim? Wouldn’t it be safer if she went to bed?’
‘At my birthday party?’ Gussie cried, swinging her legs off the sofa. ‘Daddy, you couldn’t be so mean!’
Jim Meredith patted Charled Lafayette on the shoulder. ‘She’s all right, Charles. Believe me. If I thought there was the slightest cause for alarm I’d order her to bed, party or no party.’
Gussie rose determinedly to her feet, supported by Bradley’s steadying arm.
‘I’m fine, really I am. Just a little wobbly, and that will pass off in a minute. Mae is always fainting. I used to think it quite romantic, but I don’t any longer. It’s hideous.’
‘Here’s a shawl for you, darling,’ Tina Lafayette said, handing her a gossamer-light, delicately fringed wrap.
Gussie laughed. ‘No thank you, Cousin Tina. I don’t need a shawl yet. I’ll save that for my eightieth birthday party, not my eighteenth.’ She grasped Bradley’s hand. ‘Don’t look so worried, Brad. It was just a silly faint. Let’s go out and dance. I don’t want to waste another moment.’
Charles Lafayette mopped his brow and followed them into the balmy night air. For one dreadful moment he’d thought the party he’d planned for so long was going to have to be abruptly curtailed. He reached for a cigar, the anxiety fading as he smoked it and watched Gussie laughingly reassure her friends as to her health, and dance joyfully with first Bradley, then Austin Merriweather, then Jason Shreve and then Bradley again.
The modern gyrations of the young gave way to rousing formation dances at which even he joined in. Gussie led the reels, hands clapping, eyes shining, swirling deftly with first one partner and then another. As the night hours merged into those of early dawn, the music slowed and closely clasped couples swayed together to the soft strains of Gershwin and Cole Porter, satin and silken hems trailing in the dew-wet grass.
Bradley kissed her lingeringly. ‘It’s bedtime, princess,’ he said at last, raising his head from hers, his voice catching in his throat as he gazed down at the soft sensuous contours of her mouth, the shining mass of her hair and the dark depths of her eyes.
She smiled wickedly. ‘Won’t you join me?’ she whispered.
There was a hot flush at the back of his eyes and his arms tightened around her so that she gasped in delight.
‘Another two months, and you won’t be able to tease me any longer, Augusta Lafayette. I’ll have you wherever and whenever I please.’
She giggled, silencing him with her lips, feeling her spine melt and her bones turn to water. He could have her now, right there on the lawn if he wanted, and he knew it. The fact that he didn’t do so only made her want him more. Sex with Bradley was going to be glorious and she had only until October to wait until they were married. She sighed, wishing that he wasn’t quite so adamant about her retaining her virtue until then. He hadn’t cared about Mae’s virtue, or the virtue of the scores of other girls he had dated. But then, she reminded herself as they began to stroll hand in hand back to the house, he hadn’t been in love with them. He hadn’t wanted to marry them.
The fairy lights still gleamed in the trees, pale reflections now as the pearl-grey sky took on the first golden hints of dawn. Champagne corks littered the sweet-smelling grass. Down at the pool, her aunt and Jim Meredith and a score of others still laughed and danced. The band, bleary eyed, still played for the remaining couples.
Gussie sighed blissfully. It had been a perfect party. Nearly as perfect as her wedding day would be.
Bradley broke off a full-blown rose from the bank of flowers that fronted the porticoed entrance to the house and slid it into her hair so that it rested at her temple. She smiled; a gentle, soft, sensuous smile that caught at his heart.
In the marble-floored hallway a maid was waiting to usher her to her room and put her to bed.
‘Are you coming in for breakfast?’ she asked.
He shook his head. ‘No, I’m going now. Ring me when you wake up.’
He kissed her one last time and she paused at the doorway, reluctant to go inside and lose sight of him. The moon faded in the glowing sky, the sun inched to the rim of the horizon. She leaned against a fluted pillar and dreamily removed the rose from her hair, smelling its fragrance, watching in a world of her own as Bradley strolled, broad-shouldered and handsome to his Thunderbird.
His parents had gone home long ago, carefully chauffered as the majority of guests had been. Her aunts and uncles, cousins and second-cousins were sleepily making their way to bed, or lingering over coffee and the hot buffet breakfast that was being served in the dining room and which her father was hosting. She could no longer see the band but she could hear the faint notes of a last waltz. Bradley’s car disappeared down the oak-lined drive. She blew a kiss in its direction and turned to enter the house.
The shadow fell across her as softly as a kiss. She stood perfectly still, her heart hammering. This time she would not chase it away. This time she would know, once and for all. It enveloped her, caressing her so that she could hardly breathe.
‘Augusta, Augusta.’
The very air seemed to whisper her name. She felt beads of perspiration break out on her forehead and her fingers tightened around the rose. Perhaps if she moved very slowly, perhaps this time … Almost imperceptibly she turned her head. The steps behind her were deserted. On the distant lawn two or three couples remained, locked in each other’s arms, too distant to be recognizable. There was no one there: no one to be seen. With a low moan she fled into the house, the crushed petals of the rose scattering in her wake.
Charles Lafayette was buoyant. In the week following the party Augusta had been unusually quiet and had looked strained and tired – obviously Jim Meredith had been right about the excitement being too much for her – but now from the direction of the pool came the sound of records being played, and laughter. A smile tinged his mouth. A pool party. Augusta was once more feeling her usual vivacious self. He had seen the Shreve boys arrive with Bradley, and he had glimpsed Mae Jefferson and Austin Merriweather. He strolled towards his study, happy with his daughter’s friends, happy with his daughter, happy with life. His cousin Leo was remaining at St Michel for a prolonged vacation before returning to Vancouver, as was the great aunt. It was wonderful to have family around again, and tonight Leo had promised him a treat.
‘I like home movies, Cousin Leo. I won’t be bored, honestly.’
Leo Lafayette smiled indulgently at her. ‘Most of them are of Vancouver and of people you don’t know. I thought they’d be of interest to your father, not you.’
‘Well, they do interest me,’ Augusta said. ‘And you took some of my birthday party, didn’t you?’
‘Reels and reels.’
‘Then we’ll have another party tonight. A family party, and watch them. Aunt Tina is coming to supper and Great Aunt Belle is still with us. Daddy is afraid she isn’t ever going to leave.’
Great Aunt Belle was as eager as Gussie to see the movies, as she announced later that evening when all was ready. ‘Perhaps now we’ll know what it is you do up in Canada,’ she said grouchily, sitting herself in the centre of the sofa. ‘No wife, no children. What sort of a life is that?’
Leo grinned and winked at Augusta, and Augusta winked back. She liked her Cousin Leo. Younger than her father, he had none of her father’s austere manner. He had cut loose from New Orleans long ago, and his visits were always long looked-forward-to treats.
Tina sat gracefully beside Great Aunt Belle, displaying long, silken legs and sipping a glass of wine. Charles Lafayette nursed a glass of brandy and sat in a leather wing chair while Augusta perched on the arm.
‘Goodness,’ Augusta said as a girl little older than herself skied to a halt in front of the camera and blew a kiss. ‘So that is what you get up to in Canada, Uncle Leo!’
There were roars of laughter and Great Aunt Belle made disapproving noises though her mouth twitched suspiciously at the corners.
‘Oh, there’s me,’ Augusta cried, clapping her hands delightedly at the sight of herself in her Paris gown as she greeted her guests, her father standing proudly on one side of her, Bradley on the other. ‘Doesn’t Bradley look handsome? Look, there’s Eden flirting with him quite openly whenever I’m not looking. And there’s Cousin Theobald with Mae and just look at the expression of his face! He obviously can’t wait to get away.’
‘There’s Conrad Hampton. If Bradley still looks as good when he’s his father’s age, you will be a lucky girl,’ Tina Lafayette purred.
Great Aunt Belle snorted in disapproval and Leo grinned. He knew very well the kind of tricks his little relative got up to.
‘And there we are dancing,’ Gussie said, clasping her hands around her knees, leaning forward. ‘Doesn’t my dress look divine? I shall keep it until I’m an old lady. There’s Eden again, this time with Cousin Frederick. I never realized before what a flirt Eden is. And there’s Austin Merriweather trying to dance and failing miserably. Poor Austin. All that money and no sex appeal. And there’s Jason Shreve looking quite sophisticated in his tuxedo, and there’s—’
The words choked in her throat, her eyes widened, the blood drained from her face.
‘What is it, Gussie? Do you feel faint?’ Tina asked, starting to her feet.
Leo left the projector flickering its laughing, dancing images on the screen and grabbed her shoulders.
‘Gussie! Stop staring like that! Charles, I think she’s gone into a trance!’
Charles Lafayette had been monentarily transfixed by shock. Now he pushed his brother away, seized his daughter and shook her. ‘Gussie! Gussie!‘
Slowly Gussie’s eyes focused on her father’s frightened face.
‘Gussie, are you all right? What is it? Shall I call Dr Meredith? Tina, call Jim Meredith …’
‘No …’ Unsteadily Gussie rose to her feet. ‘No … I don’t want to see anyone.’ Dazedly her eyes were dragged back to the now blank screen.
‘Let me put her to bed,’ Tina Lafayette said practically. ‘Send Allie up with a glass of hot milk, Charles. I’ll give her two of my sleeping tablets and she’ll be fine by morning.’
Slowly, like a sleep-walker, Gussie climbed the stairs to her room, holding on to the banisters as if at any second she would lose consciousness and fall crashing to the floor.
Charles and Leo looked at each other bewilderedly.
‘Gussie’s never been … histrionic, has she?’ Leo asked hesitantly as Gussie stumbled to her room.
Charles Lafayette wheeled on him, his face savage. ‘Of course she hasn’t! We’ll have no such talk in this house! Gussie is perfectly normal. She’s over-excited, that’s all.’ He mopped his sweating brow with a large silk handkerchief.
‘Sorry, Charles. I wasn’t insinuating …’
‘Forget it,’ Charles Lafayette snapped. ‘Tina is right. What Gussie needs is a good night’s sleep.’
He rang for Allie and ordered the little maid to take a glass of hot milk immediately to Augusta. While he was doing so Leo thoughtfully rewound the film aware that he had been tactless in referring, however obliquely, to the skeleton in the family cupboard.
‘It was just about here, Charles. There’s Gussie dancing with Bradley,’ he said easily, trying to make amends.
Unwillingly Charles Lafayette sat down and watched the re-run of his daughter’s party.
‘There’s that friend of hers, Mae is it? There’s the Merriweather boy dancing.’
Charles Lafayette’s fingers tightened over the arm of his chair. ‘There’s Jason Shreve,’ he said, ‘and there’s – My God!’
Leo looked at his cousin in surprise. Charles’s face was ashen, his eyes incredulous, fixed, as Gussie’s had been, on the screen.
Leo turned swiftly to see what had caused such an outburst of shock. Gussie was dancing with Bradley, her face radiant, her hair spilling freely down her neck. The Merriweather boy was making awkward movements with his rosy-cheeked girlfriend. Jason Shreve was chatting up an older woman who should have known better. There were other dancers that Leo did not know. All young; all carefree. All enjoying themselves. In the distance were tiny groups composed mainly of New Orleans’more sedate citizens, chatting, champagne glasses in their hands. A maid was circulating with a silver tray of hors d’oeuvres; a waiter could be seen opening a bottle of champagne. Charles was on the film, his back to the dancers, his head bowed to hear what the small, elderly woman he was talking to was saying. Under the trees a girl that looked suspiciously like Desirée Ashington had her back to the camera, her arms around a young man’s neck. Farther left, nearly out of the picture, another figure stood, watching intently, his face cast into darkness by the heavy foliage of the oak beneath which he was standing.
Leo stopped the film and re-ran it. There was nothing, absolutely nothing to cause such an expletive from his usually carefully-spoken cousin. At the point where Gussie had choked on her words and Charles had blasphemed, he halted the film.
‘What is it, Charles? I can’t see a damn thing wrong myself.’
Slowly Charles Lafayette rose to his feet. ‘There!’ he rasped, ‘beneath the tree. Do you see?’
Leo looked. Desirée and her boyfriend were caught for all time indiscreetly kissing. He shrugged. ‘It was a little early, but so what? An hour later, everyone was kissing everyone else.’
‘No, not them. Him!’
He stabbed at the dark figure beneath the oak. Leo looked from the film to his cousin and back again. Charles looked nearly as ill as Gussie had looked.
‘I don’t know him. Who is he?’
Charles did not answer for a long time. He stared at the frozen image and then said slowly, ‘He looks like Beauregard Clay.’
‘And would Beauregard Clay have been such a disastrous guest?’ Leo asked, intrigued.
Charles laughed harshly. ‘Beauregard Clay is dead. Gussie had a schoolgirl crush on him and she took his death pretty badly, for a time – until Bradley came along.’
Leo regarded the dark figure beneath the trees with interest. ‘I see. No wonder the film gave her such a shock. But who is he? Beau’s brother?’
‘Beau Clay’s brother is five foot three, fair-haired and lives in Houston. Only Judge Clay was at the party.’
Leo turned back to the fim; the tense, intent figure beneath the trees was that of a young man, not an old man.
‘Then who?’ he asked. ‘Your guest list was highly selective. Whom did you invite who resembles Beauregard Clay?’
‘No one,’ Charles Lafayette snapped. ‘Not a damned soul, he said and tearing his eyes from the screen strode white-lipped from the room.
Leo re-ran the film again, and the next film, and the next. Nearly the whole of Augusta’s party was depicted at one stage or another. Face after face reappeared, but no matter how carefully he searched the screen he saw no resemblance to the faceless figure beneath the trees. Whoever he had been, he had not danced. That powerful, slim-hipped figure would have been immediately recognizable. Even caught motionless, there was a sense of power under restraint emanating from his body.
At last, tired and red-eyed from his efforts, Leo Lafayette switched off the projector and the lights in the room. Whoever he was, he had spoiled a nice evening. He was glad Bradley hadn’t been there to see the extent of Gussie’s reaction. Filled with a strange sense of foreboding, too restless for sleep, he lit a cigar and strolled out into the velvet blackness, gazing across the moonlit lawns to where the giant oak stood, its dark silhouette strangely menacing aginst the scudding clouds of the night sky.