The Unmasking

by Emilie Richards

  “Why don’t we just tell everyone I pleaded with you to take me back when I discovered I was pregnant, but you refused. When you found Abby and me begging in the streets, you relented.”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “Your story is just about as bad.”

  “My story is almost true.”

  “Is that how you saw our relationship, Justin? A failed marriage?”

  His forehead creased into a frown. “What we had was good, and I didn’t see it as a failure at all.”

  Dropping all pretenses of humor, she leaned over the table. “Of course not. Failure carries with it the connotation that something was worth working on, at least initially. To fail you have to give something a try. What we had was just a good old-fashioned fling.”

  “It was never that.” The words hung between them a moment. She could almost envision them in the air. “Someday, when we can get all these complications behind us, I’d like to tell you what I think our relationship was. Right now there’s too much between us that needs settling.”

  “You don’t owe me any explanations. It all happened a long time ago.”

  “We have ghosts to put to rest.”

  “Well, I’ll be happy to take the blame in your little story, so you can put that ghost to rest immediately. I don’t really care what people I don’t know think of me, but if it’s important to you, then I’ll go along with it.”

  She finished her coffee and set the cup down too hard. “There is the small matter of my daughter’s name.”

  “I want to have it changed legally. I want my name on her birth certificate.”

  “I thought you might. I have only one condition.” She looked him directly in the eyes, leaning forward even more to make her point.

  “That is?”

  “I want you to sign a statement saying you’ll never try to take custody away from me.”

  “Do you really think I’d ever try?”

  “We both know if you did, with your superior resources you would probably win.”

  “I’d never hurt you like that.”

  “Will you put that in writing?”

  “Yes, if you’ll give me your promise right now that you’ll let me have Abby on a regular basis.”

  “And you would trust my promise?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right.”

  Neither of them missed the significance of their agreement. The past was being laid to rest and a new and fragile trust was tentatively established. Bethany covered his hands with her softer ones.

  “Maybe we can attempt to be friends again,” she said. “For our daughter’s sake.”

  “It’s a good place to start.” He turned her hand to run his thumb across her palm.

  It was a gesture of friendship, a sign they were starting a new relationship, but it also traced paths through her nervous system. After all these years, Justin Dumontier could still reduce her to this. She couldn’t afford to underestimate him.

  “One more thing,” he said lightly.

  “Yes?”

  “I’d like to take Abby to see my mother tomorrow.”

  “All right.” She pushed back her chair and stood to leave. “If she’s out of here by then, you’re welcome to come get her.”

  “I want you to come.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Abby will feel better if you do. And under the circumstances my mother should meet you.”

  “The heartless vixen who kept her from her only granddaughter. She’s going to hate me.”

  Justin pushed his chair back and came to stand beside her. “No one in their right mind could hate you. I can’t guarantee she’ll fall at your feet, but she’ll be polite. She’s never impolite—she wouldn’t know how to be.”

  “I feel frozen already.”

  “Bury your prejudices. Life on St. Charles Avenue isn’t half as stuffy as you think.” He flashed a smile. “Give her a chance.”

  They parted at Abby’s door when they discovered the little girl was taking a nap. “I’ll call you tomorrow to make arrangements,” Justin told her.

  “I’ll let you know what the doctor says when he comes today. Will you be at your office for the rest of the morning?”

  “I’ve got an appointment with a real-estate agent for the remainder of the day, so I won’t be available. I’ll check with you when I can get to a phone.”

  “Making investments?”

  “House shopping for a friend.”

  Bethany wondered briefly if the friend was Danielle de Bessonet, but she had a feeling that Danielle would surely have let that slip. “See you later, then.” She started to turn back to Abby’s room but he stopped her.

  “Bethany?” His hand came under her chin. “You really are a hot mama when you’re angry, but you’re absolutely breathtaking when you aren’t.” He brushed his lips gently against hers. He was down the hall and in the elevator before she entered Abby’s room.

  * * *

  “I’M GLAD TO be home, Mommy.” Abby twirled excitedly then abandoned that to run, from the bedroom back to the living room. “Look, the windows are sparkly.”

  Bethany looked out the distorted glass panes to see the Quarter in pristine beauty. Mrs. Dumontier’s staff had cleaned the apartment from top to bottom, polishing everything they could reach, scrubbing and vacuuming, cleaning the upholstery on her few pieces of furniture. Although she prided herself on being a neat housekeeper, the apartment had never looked this clean. Even Abby’s collection of dolls had been bathed and dressed in newly washed clothes. If there was any cat dander left in the apartment, it was so sanitized it wouldn’t have a prayer of affecting the little girl.

  “I’m glad you’re home, too, I missed you so much when I wasn’t with you.” Bethany realized it had only been two weeks since Justin had walked back into her life. It seemed like forever. The changes that had occurred already were startling.

  “Can we go to the square today? Maybe Lamar is fiddling.”

  “Remember when he visited last night, he told you he was going to Baton Rouge for the weekend.”

  Abby’s lip stuck out far enough to balance a basketball. “I want to go somewhere. I’ve been in bed forever!”

  “Two days is not forever. But we are going somewhere. Justin’s going to take us to meet his mother, your grandmother.” She watched Abby for a sign she understood the importance of this news.

  “Does she have anything for kids to do?”

  Delighted that Abby wasn’t going to pout over this as she had over her father’s appearance in her life, Bethany tried to paint a rosy picture. “She has a great big house, and I bet there’ll be lots to do and see.” Actually, there would probably be lots that Abby wouldn’t be allowed to do in the showpiece on St. Charles Avenue, but Bethany wasn’t about to tell her that. She envisioned a torturous hour spent answering questions and trying to keep Abby on her best behavior.

  “Let’s go.”

  “We’re both going to change our clothes first. Your grandmother is sending her car for us in an hour.”

  “Her car goes by itself?”

  Bethany smiled. “That’s just an expression. What dress would you like to wear?”

  An hour later they were both ready, wearing, at Abby’s insistence, the one mother-daughter outfit they owned. Dressed exactly alike in emerald-green cotton sweaters and matching skirts, the two females looked like an advertising insert for a local department store. The effect was a bit much for the occasion, but Abby was delighted Bethany had given in. Bethany just hoped that Justin’s mother wouldn’t think she was trying too hard to make a point about whose child Abby was.

  Homer escorted them down to the waiting limousine, and Abby, with a shriek of joy, hurled her little body onto the luxurious seats and bounced for the entire ten-minute drive. It was a sunny day, and New Orleans was beginning to look as if spring were arriving. Since it had been a fairly mild winter, azaleas and camellias were beginning to bloom, sending bright rays of color ou
t to meet the sunshine.

  Homer drove the length of St. Charles, taking his time as if he knew Bethany would be in no hurry to arrive. She sat by the window, gazing at the ornate mansions of Italianate, Victorian, Greek Revival and architectural styles she couldn’t identify but could appreciate.

  Finally Homer signaled and pulled the car into a circular driveway in front of a Greek Revival mansion. Growing more discouraged by the moment, she wished Mrs. Dumontier lived in one of the colorful Victorians they had seen. Gingerbread trim and bright stained-glass windows gave them friendly warmth and character, although the houses were also worth a great deal. This house, with its pillars and formal design, made her feel like a peasant about to approach a priestess in her temple.

  Slipping out of the seat, she saw Justin was standing on the front steps. After bringing them home from the hospital, he had rushed off to another appointment with his realtor, and Bethany had been afraid she would arrive at his mother’s house before he did. During their brief time together in his car that morning she hadn’t learned how his mother had reacted to the news of a four-year-old granddaughter born out of wedlock.

  Justin walked down the steps to take her arm and Abby’s hand. “Come on, you two. If my mother has to wait any longer to meet Abby, I think she’ll pass out from the anticipation.”

  “Justin,” Bethany said in a stage whisper, “won’t your mother think it’s strange that you’re holding on to me, too? Aren’t I supposed to be the vixen?”

  “I’ll just tell her I’m holding on in case you try to run away again.”

  The front entrance took them into a center hall flanked on one side by what Bethany assumed was a formal drawing room. The hall itself was painted a Wedgwood blue, with interior millwork that included carved wreaths and “lamb’s tongue” molding. A heavy eighteenth-century brass mirror hung to the side of the staircase, bordered by sconces heavily laden with prisms that sent refracted light to dance on the wall. Underneath the mirror was an inlaid chest embellished with a crystal bowl flanked by bronze urns. With a sideways peek into the drawing room Bethany could see mahogany furniture accessorized with carefully chosen antique pieces, including what looked like a Ming vase.

  Abby and a Ming vase. Her heart threatened to quit beating. She pulled away from Justin and grabbed Abby’s other hand. “Abby,” she whispered, “be sure you don’t touch anything unless I tell you it’s all right.”

  “This isn’t a museum, Bethany. Don’t worry so much.” Justin tugged her to stand beside him again. “Come on.”

  They followed the long hallway past other rooms, some of which were equally as formal as the drawing room, some of which were almost cozy. Without examining them carefully, Bethany could still see that each was an entity unto itself. Although Justin had said that the house wasn’t a museum, it looked like one. Each room was decorated in a different style, a showcase for a different period of history.

  They turned a corner, following the hall, and stepped down into a brightly lit sun-room furnished with contemporary furniture covered with rainbow-hued canvas pillows. The room was a mass of tall trees, vines twined around windows and flowering shrubs in huge clay pots.

  The contrast to the rest of the house caused Bethany to blink in surprise. Abby let out a whoop and ran toward an antique carved wooden horse straight off of a nineteenth-century carousel. “Justin, can I ride it?” the little girl piped.

  “Of course. But first come meet your grandmother.”

  She had been so enchanted with examining the sun-room that Bethany had almost forgotten the purpose of their visit,. She turned to see an older woman with perfectly groomed silver hair and a lovely aristocratic face coming into the room. The two women stared at each other for a moment until Mrs. Dumontier caught sight of Abby. Bethany watched her grow pale, and she waited with concern as Justin went to his mother to lend support.

  “I told you she looked like Marie,” he murmured, “but I’m sure you couldn’t have imagined how much.” Justin put his arm around his mother, and she leaned against him briefly.

  “Introduce us,” Mrs. Dumontier said huskily.

  “Abby come here.” The little girl walked curiously to her grandmother.

  “You’re pretty,” she said. “I didn’t know grandmothers were s’posed to be pretty.”

  Mrs. Dumontier stooped on legs that were visibly shaking. “Hello, Abby.” And then, as if she couldn’t stop herself, she reached out to trace the little girl’s features. “You’re pretty yourself.”

  “I look like him.” Abby pointed to her father. “I didn’t even know him, but I still look like him.”

  “Yes, you certainly do.” Louise Dumontier looked straight at Bethany for a moment, examining her. She turned back to her granddaughter. “But you have your mother’s lovely coloring.”

  “Can I ride the horse now, Justin?”

  Justin picked her up and carried her across the room as the older woman stood and eyed Bethany. Finally she held out her hand. “Thank you for coming,” she said simply.

  There seemed to be no response that was appropriate. Bethany swallowed hard, and the pause lengthened. “I don’t know what to say,” she said finally, taking Mrs. Dumontier’s hand, “except that I’m sorry I’ve kept you from your granddaughter for so long.”

  “I think you had your reasons, and someday perhaps you’ll share them with me. For now, I feel like I’ve been reborn, and there’s no place inside me for regrets.”

  Justin came over to stand beside them, spontaneously putting an arm around each woman. “I think you’ll find you have a lot in common. I want you to be friends.”

  Under the circumstances, it seemed like a lot to ask, but as the afternoon progressed the two women became more and more at ease with each other. With Justin in the lead, Abby and Bethany explored every inch of the house. Mrs. Dumontier seemed pleased to find that Bethany was well acquainted with antiques, and the two chatted about interior decorating, which was a passion of Louise’s.

  “I wanted to open my own shop,” the older woman told Bethany, her arm around Abby, who had fallen asleep next to her. “But my husband was against it. He was sure it wouldn’t give me enough time to fulfill our obligations. So I took out my frustrations by redecorating the house room by room. When I finished, I’d just start over again. Sometimes I’d forget what was next and redo a room that had been recently renovated, but it kept me busy.”

  “I like the eclectic feeling. I think I’d grow tired of only one style in a house this large,” Bethany said.

  Justin smiled at his mother. “We never had time to grow tired of anything. Just when I’d get used to it something disappeared.”

  “I never even knew that you noticed. You were always upstairs studying or working on some project, and I did leave your room alone.”

  Bethany smiled at them both. “I hate to leave, but I’m a working woman who’s very far behind. I’ve got to get home pretty soon and finish some masks.”

  “Mother, will you keep Abby for a little while? I’ve got something I want Bethany to see that’s not too far from here. We’ll be back in about half an hour so I can get her home early enough to get some work done.”

  Bethany watched Louise’s smile broaden. Abby’s grandmother was going to be delighted to have her granddaughter to herself. She felt her first real surge of warmth for the older woman, who had been denied so much and still found it in her heart to forgive. “Will we really be back in half an hour, Justin? I’m serious about working tonight.”

  “I know you are. This shouldn’t take long.” He stood and Bethany followed him, perplexed by his secretive manner.

  “Thank you for watching Abby, Louise.”

  “Don’t hurry back,” Louise said in answer.

  In the car Bethany avoided the subject of Justin’s mother. “Well, this is a lovely neighborhood. I’m impressed with all these glorious houses.” By then Justin had driven about a mile from his mother’s home to the Uptown residential section, characterized
by more gracious old homes, again in a surprising array of architectural styles.

  Parking the car on the corner of State Street and St. Charles, they silently strolled several blocks to stand in front of a raised Creole cottage with a spacious front gallery.

  “Would you like to see this one inside?”

  “Well, yes,” she said puzzled by his question. “Do you know the owner?”

  “Very well. Come on.”

  Bethany followed him up the walk, admiring the lush green grass and spacious yard. The house was set back from the road, a quiet side street with little traffic. Obviously the owners had hired a professional gardener, because the yard was a mass of color and crisply trimmed shrubs. In the side yard stood a magnolia tree large enough to tower over the house. “Wouldn’t that tree be perfect for a child to climb,” she said.

  Justin smiled as if he approved of her comment. Pulling a ring of keys from his pocket, he unlocked the door, pocketing them again and taking her hand. They entered the house through a center hall with large rooms bordering it. “Originally,” he said, “this style of house was always small, with four rooms forming a square and no hall. This one was built later, with the six rooms downstairs and a center hall, which my mother says was primarily Georgian in inspiration.”

  “Justin, this house has no furniture.”

  “You’re right. No one lives here right now.”

  So this was the piece of real estate that had kept him so busy. A suspicion began to form. “Justin, what. . .”

  “Don’t say anything yet. Come look at it with me.” She followed him through each room, silently admiring the polished floors, the cypress woodwork and mantels over the fireplaces. The rooms were painted white or creamy pastel colors and everything about the house was in perfect order. They walked through the kitchen into a tiny room with a small curving stairway.

  “This leads to a dormered attic with two rooms. Come on.”

  They climbed the stairs to find two bedrooms side by side. “Originally these were probably servant’s quarters, but the previous owner used them for his children.”

  One of the rooms was covered with beige wallpaper dotted with tiny bouquets of multicolored flowers. Curtains of nubby rose cotton still hung at the window. The other was painted an off-white, with a mural of sailing ships on one wall. In what was obviously at one time a hall closet they found a small bathroom.