He took her hand without replying. His eyes held hers and she sensed that he wanted to say something far more intimate than he should. She eased her hand from his. The impression of his fingers left a warm feeling on her skin, like a footprint in the sand.
She said lightly, “It seems as though it’s going to be a successful evening.”
Mark smiled, a wide, dancing smile that charmed Dominique. He gestured at the canal below. “I’m truly amazed by all this. I’ve never seen anything like it. I know you told me about it, but I never had a clear picture of what it would look like. Everyone’s going to be talking about it tomorrow!”
“I have to earn my keep.” It was disturbing when he looked at her that way. He meant nothing to her, of course. He was no more than a friend. Still, his unfettered admiration was… somehow unsettling.
Mark’s expression changed. Now he cocked his head with curiosity. “How much do events like these really do for sales?”
“That’s a good question.” Dominique was relieved to be talking business. She placed one hand on the banister and shifted her weight to the opposite foot—a pose that indicated she was prepared to chat a while. “Quite a large effect, actually. Not only in sales immediately following the event, but in overall trends for the store. Orman’s is still fairly new. We’re trying to create a certain image, and events like these help. They also ingratiate us with the community. This is the first time we’ve attracted so many prominent New Orleanians,” she said, giving Mark a grateful smile. “Thanks to you.”
Mark smiled back. He loved to watch her eyes as she spoke. When she talked about her work, he could see her enthusiasm and vigor. That was how he felt about his work, too, and he liked to think they had traits in common. “The success of this event has more to do with you than me.” Mark touched her arm lightly when he said the word “you.” He wanted an excuse to touch her, to move closer to her. The momentary contact left a tingle at the tip of his finger.
Dominique unconsciously put her hand over the spot where he had touched her. She rubbed it softly as she spoke. “I think a lot of the success is due to community enthusiasm. New Orleanians love attending these things. A lot of New Yorkers have a more jaded attitude.”
Mark looked around the room, then turned back to Dominique with a smile. “I can’t imagine anyone being too jaded to appreciate this. It’s incredible!”
They had somehow shifted positions and were now standing side by side overlooking the ground floor. Dominique’s bare arm almost touched the dark wool of Mark’s dinner jacket. Occasionally, when she gestured, she felt the cloth brushing her arm, the heat rising from his body. Subtly, she inched away, then pushed off from the rail and pivoted to face him. He mirrored her movement. Dominique noticed a bit of lint on his lapel and had the urge to pluck it off. She knew it would please him if she did. She was a person who used her hands when she spoke and often reached out to touch the person to whom she was speaking. But she was very careful not to touch Mark. She left the lint where it was. Looking up at him, she asked, “Did you come alone?”
“No,” he said. He gave a cursory glance around the mezzanine, then turned back to Dominique. “My date’s around here somewhere. Do you know Nina Rivers?”
Dominique felt a thrill of curiosity. It was the first time Mark had ever mentioned a woman. “Her father owns Rivers Oil, doesn’t he? I think he bought a table.”
Mark nodded. “I actually know him better than I know her,” he explained unnecessarily. “But it’s not much fun to come to these things alone.” He wanted her to know it was nothing serious… but why? What was the use?
Dominique lowered her eyelids and made a moue with her lips. “Shouldn’t you try to find her?”
Mark shrugged. “She knows everybody here. She doesn’t need me to have a good time.” He paused, wondering if he sounded boorish. He didn’t want Dominique to think that of him. He flushed and went on, more uncertainly. “I mean… I’ll find her before we go in to dinner, but she has a lot of friends she wants to say hello to.”
Dominique saw his embarrassment and thought it adorable. He really was such a nice person! She smiled reassuringly.
“Dominique.” Mark didn’t know why he had spoken her name. He had just wanted to say it. But he had to get hold of himself. It was ridiculous the effect she had on him. He had to keep reminding himself that she was married. Happily married.
“Mark, what is it? You have such a peculiar look.” Instinctively, Dominique put a hand on his forearm. Mark covered her hand with his, and she immediately pulled back, as if she had been burned. Then she was ashamed of herself. Why should she jerk away as though he were poisonous?
Unspoken words hung in the air. Mark gave her a weak half-smile and said, “Nothing’s wrong.” He paused. “I hope you’ll save a dance for me after dinner.” He was surprised that he sounded normal, friendly.
“It’s the least she can do!” Clay’s hearty voice broke the spell.
Mark looked up, as startled as a burglar caught breaking into a safe.
Dominique took a step away from him. She looked from Clay to Mark and back again. Then she reached for her husband’s arm with a welcoming smile.
Clay put out his hand and gave Mark a broad grin. “Clay Parker,” he said. “We’ve met a couple of times over at the capitol. Dominique’s told me about your work on the gala. Mighty generous of you to have given so much of your time.”
Mark responded with equal bonhomie. “I’m ashamed to say I foisted most of the work off on Dominique. But I think it was a wise move. It looks like it’s going to be a big success.” Mark was an inch or so shorter than Clay, and Dominique saw him straighten his spine and square his shoulders.
Clay casually draped his arm around Dominique. “All that talent and looks, too,” he remarked. He had a spot of bright color on each cheek and his drawl was more pronounced than usual. Though he was by no means slurring his words, Dominique could tell that he had drunk quite a bit. She was acutely aware of Mark’s scrutiny of her husband and she suddenly felt embarrassed for Clay, though she knew it was ridiculous to think that someone would look down on him for a slight overindulgence. In New Orleans, a man was admired for being able to hold his liquor, but if he lost control once in a while no one thought the worse of him. Clay was nowhere near that point, so Dominique couldn’t understand why she felt him to be at a disadvantage with Mark. But the impression aroused a protective loyalty in her.
“Clay’s been very understanding about the time I’ve had to devote to this project,” Dominique said, keeping her eyes fixed on her husband.
Mark smiled politely. “Well, I’d better not take up any more of it. I’m sure you have plenty to do. And I need to go and find Miss Rivers.” He gave Dominique a little bow, then put out his hand to Clay. “Pleasure seeing you again, Clay.”
Clay’s expression was ingratiating. “Hope to see you soon.” He gave Mark a hearty handshake.
The couple watched Mark disappear into the crowd. As soon as he was gone, Clay turned to his wife. “You haven’t forgotten about inviting him to dinner, have you?”
Dominique raised one shoulder and let it drop. “The opportunity didn’t come up,” she replied, not meeting Clay’s eyes. She knew very well that Mark would accept her dinner invitation.
“We shouldn’t let this chance slip by,” Clay reminded Dominique. “In a couple of weeks, he’ll have forgotten who you are.” His voice rose decisively. “I’m going to ask him myself. After dinner, when everyone’s relaxing.” He paused for a moment, lost in thought. Then his face brightened. “Maybe I should invite Nina Rivers with him! Her father’s oil company uses Seaward Shipping instead of us.” Clay was already envisioning a lucrative new client and a helpful new friend in the legislature.
Dominique tried to think of a diplomatic way to discourage him from issuing the invitations. But before she could speak, Clay let out a low whistle and said, “Boy, that Patout sure is a lucky fellow!”
Dominique followed his
gaze. Across the room, Mark stood with a statuesque blonde of the same aristocratic style as actress Grace Kelly. Dominique had once or twice seen Nina Rivers’ photo in the society page, but she’d never seen the woman in person. She was exquisite. Unconsciously, Dominique shook her head. If she told Clay about Mark’s crush on her, he would accuse her of being delusional!
CHAPTER 13
THE WEEK after Christmas, Clay surprised Dominique with a four-day trip to New York. They spent one evening with Dominique’s former co-workers, Bruce, Maude, Lucinda, and Lucinda’s new fiancé, a polished Wall Street investment banker. The remaining time was devoted to family. Clay insisted on taking his nieces, Lana and Monique, to FAO Schwarz and spoiling them with new toys. For Solange and Danielle, there were huge bottles of French perfume, and for Ron, who had recently discovered an obsession with golf, a sleek new driver.
“We’ll be paying these bills for months!” Dominique gently scolded.
He shrugged off her caution. “It’ll be okay.”
It was impossible not to be warmed by Clay’s extravagance; it touched her that he wanted so much for her family to like him.
Then, in April, shattering news threw Clay’s own family into disarray.
The phone call came near dawn when Dominique was home alone, Clay on a business trip to Los Angeles. She barely recognized the broken voice on the other end as that of Lenore Parker, her mother-in-law.
“Dominique, I’m at the hospital. It’s Clay…”
Dominique jolted upright in bed, uncomprehending. “Clay!” she cried. “What’s wrong with him?” Why would Lenore be calling her about Clay?
“Oh, God!” Lenore sobbed. “I mean Clay’s daddy. He’s… he’s had a heart attack. He”—the woman choked on her words—“he didn’t make it!” No sooner had she uttered the phrase than she broke down completely. “I don’t know what to do next! Clay has to come right away!” More sobbing.
Dominique, numb, tried to murmur some words of comfort. “I’ll call him at his hotel. He has the company plane. He can leave right away.”
A lost wail from Lenore. “But what am I supposed to do? I’m all alone. Clay’s daddy always took care of everything…”
Dominique tried to clear her thoughts. In a decisive voice, she said, “I’ll come right away. I’ll call Aunt Ellen and Aunt Anne.” Lenore’s sister and sister-in-law. She raised her voice to be heard over the sobbing. “Don’t worry, Lenore, I’ll be there in a few minutes and I’ll take care of everything.”
Luckily, Dominique reached Clay at once. He reacted to the news with silence. Dominique assumed he was too stunned to speak. Then, all at once, his voice came over the line, steady and crisp. “I’ll leave now. Tell Mother I’ll handle everything.”
For the next week, Dominique barely saw Clay. He was embroiled in a plethora of morbid details, on the phone constantly—to the funeral home, the office, the Parker Shipping branches. He reassured clients, scheduled a meeting of the company’s top officers, and contacted Parker relatives throughout the country. He was head of the family now—that was clear.
The day after the funeral, Clay returned late from “a meeting with the attorney,” as he casually labeled it to Dominique. When she met him in the foyer, she was distressed to see the gravity of his expression. Had he suffered yet another blow? She went toward him, prepared to offer sympathy.
She reached for his hat. “Here, let me take those for you.”
As Clay handed it to her, his eyes met Dominique’s for the first time.
For a moment she hesitated, struck by what she saw. There was a secret excitement in him, a flame of… something she couldn’t identify.
Clay abruptly averted his eyes.
Troubled, Dominique turned and put his hat in the closet. Clay was keeping something from her. She closed the door and turned back to him, a question in her eyes.
Clay rubbed his hands over his face in a gesture of weariness.
“Tired?” Dominique asked, reaching up and rubbing the back of his neck.
“Yeah,” he sighed. He met her gaze again.
“You have news?” Dominique asked, once more troubled by the fire that seemed inconsistent with the fatigued droop of his mouth.
Clay took Dominique’s elbow. “Let’s go into the study. We need to talk.”
“All right,” Dominique said, apprehensive.
But they had taken only a few steps when Clay stopped short. He turned Dominique toward him and put his hands on her shoulders. “Babe…” he whispered as he shook his head in wonder, “the business is finally mine. We’re filthy rich now.” His gaze became dreamy and unfocused. “Everything’s going to be different.”
Clay was true to his word. Things began to change immediately. In typical patriarchal fashion, Clay’s father had left almost $2 million in stocks, cash, and bonds, as well as Parker Shipping, in Clay’s hands. Lenore Parker was provided with more than enough money to maintain her lifestyle, but the bank was assigned to execute the trust. Clay chafed at that—even from the grave, his father had found a way to strike a blow to his confidence. But the excitement of the inheritance soon overcame his hurt. Clay had an agenda he was eager to implement.
His first move was to put the house on the market and start looking for a new one on St. Charles. Dominique was stunned by the swiftness of his action, but she didn’t have the heart to discourage him in a project he had spoken of with longing since she’d known him. What was the point in delaying? She had always known this was his intention. Still, when the time came to move from their quaint little house to the kingly antebellum mansion on St. Charles, Dominique was struck with an attack of nostalgia. They had been so happy in their first home.
Clay, on the other hand, couldn’t stop marveling at the new place.
“Now this is an entrance!” he crowed as they drove up the bricked semicircle to the front steps. Dominique looked at the fountain in the middle of the broad green half-moon that comprised the front yard, at the six massive white pillars that guarded the portico, and she had to agree. It was impressive! The facade, with its expansive southern grandeur, was even more imposing than her childhood home. She couldn’t help but catch Clay’s excitement.
Inside, an echoing foyer of black-and-white marble reminded her of a European castle. A double staircase with bronze Art Nouveau banisters cascaded gracefully down either side of the broad room, continuing the semicircular theme. In the center hung a crystal chandelier—large but delicate.
“Baccarat,” Clay said, following Dominique’s gaze.
“So you’ve mentioned,” she said dryly. A hundred times, she thought with silent amusement. Aloud, she said, “This place is awfully big for just the two of us.”
Clay took her in his arms. “Then let’s have kids,” he said with a grin. He hugged her, and his expression grew earnest. “You don’t have to work—we can afford anything we want. We’ll hire a live-in couple to help Lucy. You won’t have to do a thing.”
“But I want to work! I’ve already told you I’ll resign when I get pregnant. But I’m only twenty-four. There’s still plenty of time for children,” she said casually.
Clay fixed her with a somber look. “We need to start thinking seriously about starting a family. I want a son to take over my business.”
Dominique laughed. My business. Since his father’s death, Clay was sometimes impossibly self-important. Well, it was his business now, and Dominique couldn’t blame him for caring about it. The self-importance would fade, she was certain. It probably came from trying to grapple with all the new responsibilities that had fallen to him. Responsibilities that he handled with remarkable competence, she reminded herself. Still, her natural reaction to pompousness—in anyone— was to laugh at it. “Clay, you’re only thirty-one and you’re already thinking about heirs!”
Clay abruptly released Dominique and looked away, his brows coming together in irritation. “I should think,” he said severely, “you’d understand my concern, considering how suddenly Fa
ther died.”
Dominique was taken aback. “Don’t speak to me as though I were an idiot,” she snapped. “I understand your concern. I just don’t think the situation as urgent as you do.”
They glared at each other in angry silence.
Finally Clay made a noise of exasperation and averted his eyes. “Look, I’ve been waiting a long time for this day.” He turned back to Dominique with a stony gaze. “Don’t ruin it for me.”
The death of Clay’s father was followed a few months later by an event almost as unexpected.
It was late September and Dominique could smell a hurricane coming. As she rode the streetcar home from work, she kept checking the sky with a worried expression. Dark, greenish clouds hung low over the trees. The air was thick, almost suffocating. Dominique was anxious to get home. Louisiana’s wild storms petrified her—she’d never seen anything like them, coming as she did from a desert climate. Even in a normal thunderstorm, the trees bent so threateningly low that it seemed they would surely crash down on her. And the wind howled—gratingly, continuously—causing all sorts of strange rattles and creaks, so that Dominique felt it was invading even the safety of the house’s interior.
She heaved a sigh of relief when she reached her front door just as the first fat drops of rain began to splatter down. At least she hadn’t gotten wet. She entered the house quickly and locked the door behind her.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Parker,” said the new live-in housekeeper. Clay had hired Myrna and Bill Jefferson, a middle-aged couple, shortly after the move. Bill saw to the grounds and Myrna cleaned house. Lucy had remained as cook.
“Awful day, isn’t it?” Dominique shuddered as she handed her raincoat to Myrna. Then she went to the mail waiting on the marble-topped table in the foyer. A letter from Danielle or Maude would be a welcome distraction. She picked up the mail and started to sift through it. Good! A letter from Solange. The electric bill, the phone bill. Then came a thick, creamy envelope, addressed in beautiful calligraphy. Her interest piqued, Dominique picked up the envelope and slid her index finger under the flap. The paper was so thick and stiff that it cut her.
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