She stared at him in surprise for an instant. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought he was offering her the protection of his presence. That was, of course, foolish. “I told you this has nothing to do with the corporation.”
“So I understood.”
“But you doubt it?”
“Did I say that?” His tone was irritable.
“No, of course not, that isn’t your way. In fact, you say very little, so I am left to guess at what you mean. I assume you are afraid I will embarrass the Staulet Corporation by becoming too friendly with the man who will probably be our next governor, and maybe getting involved in the kind of private, under-the-table arrangements that lead to public indictments. I can tell you that is the furthest thing from my mind.”
“And from Gallant’s, I would imagine. I expect his interest lies more under the covers.”
She hadn’t blushed in years. Embarrassment for doing so now brought a snap to her voice. “Since mine doesn’t, there’s no cause for concern.”
“There would be even less if this appointment was turned into a business luncheon.”
“Are you so curious that you’re inviting yourself to join us?” Saying such a thing was a calculated risk. She had to see Edison alone.
“I am trying, without apparent success, to put you on your guard.”
“Save your breath. I’m always on my guard.”
His face hardened. “Very true,” he said, “I should have remembered.”
He stepped past her desk to stand at the floor-to-ceiling picture window that flooded her office with light. Pushing one hand into his pocket, he stared out over the view of rooftops and isolated spots of greenery in French Quarter courtyards toward the great crescent bend of the Mississippi River. Beyond him through the glass, Riva could see a freighter easing along on the wide, muddy waterway, a container ship with its boxlike truck trailers loaded with goods for Africa or South America or some other exotic place. Coming from the other direction was one of the excursion boats built to look like an old-fashioned steamboat with red and white paint, double smokestacks, and a rear paddle wheel. Watching the two meet in the bend was like seeing the past and the present converge, then go opposite ways.
The day was bright and hot beyond the window, Noel was silhouetted against the sun-proof glass. His stance was relaxed, his shoulders under the excellent tailoring of his suit broad and square. Still, tension vibrated in the air between them, making Riva restless. It was not a new sensation; she should be used to it by now. She wondered sometimes if Noel felt it when they were together. He never seemed to, appearing instead so remote and self-contained that she longed to hit him, shock him, anything to break through the barrier he had erected between them.
She took a calming breath before she spoke. “I promise you I will do nothing to jeopardize the corporation. Now are you satisfied?”
“Do you think that’s all I care about?” He asked it without turning.
“Not at all. I should have said that I will also do nothing to injure the Staulet name.”
He gave a hollow laugh. “Oh, yes, the family name.”
“Your father thought it important.”
“I don’t doubt it. I’m not my father, nor am I remotely like him.”
“He…was a fine man.”
“I don’t need you to tell me that.”
This was skirting too close to the pain of recent loss and also to old heartache. She glanced at her watch, deliberately making her tone dismissive. “I’m sure you don’t. I had better go or I’ll be late.”
He turned to face her, an oddly intent expression in his dark eyes. “You’re afraid of me, aren’t you?”
“Don’t be absurd! Why should I be afraid of you?”
The words were firm enough, but there was a panicky feeling in Riva’s chest. Noel had always been sensitive to the emotional undercurrents that swirled beneath most conversations, most relationships. There had been times in the past when he had understood her fears and insecurities much too well. Such empathy now was something she could do without. She took a tighter grip on her purse and measured the distance to the door with her eyes, wondering if he would try to stop her if she started to leave.
“I don’t know why, but you are. You can’t bear to be in my company for more than a few minutes at a time. You speak to me as little as possible. You sit as far from me as you can at any table. If I enter a room, you make an excuse to leave it. You concoct elaborate plans so you won’t have to ride in the same car. What is the matter?”
“Nothing is the matter. You’re imagining things.”
“Oh, sure. Tell me you aren’t wondering this minute how you can get out of this room.”
“I have an appointment!”
“You can’t think I’m going to attack you, make violent love to you on your office floor?”
Startled, she met his gaze. The only answer that came to mind was the bald truth. “No. Never.”
A soft sound left him, almost like the ghost of a laugh. His dark gray eyes lighted with a flicker of something that was gone so quickly that she could not be sure whether it was pain or passion or a combination of both.
She moistened her lips. “You…I have to admit you have ample cause to resent me. If it wasn’t for me, everything would be yours—the corporation, the house, everything.”
“You lived with my father for twenty-odd years. I, of all people, should know how hard you worked for what you gained.”
There was a sting in that remark, and she felt it. Her tone acid, she said, “There was no question of work.”
“I don’t doubt it. I know my father would have given you anything you wanted, no matter what you did. The fact is, you became his right hand, someone he could not do without.”
She lifted her chin. “Well, I didn’t want or expect to be made co-owner of everything with you.”
“You wanted it all?”
“I’m not so stupid. I know that was impossible under Louisiana law.”
“Otherwise, you might—”
“No! No, I didn’t mean that. I would have been perfectly happy with a reasonable income.”
“Reasonable to you,” he said softly, “being riches itself to anyone else.”
It was useless to explain or to expect him to understand. She should have known it. She lifted a shoulder in a careless gesture. “Naturally, I didn’t expect to live in a housing project and shop at garage sales.”
“Instead, you are president and CEO of the corporation you helped build to its present position. What could be more natural, and right?”
“If you really thought that,” she said as she watched his face for every changing nuance of expression, “you would have no reason to try to force me out.”
“Exactly.”
“Then what are you trying to do?” The question was abrupt, dictated by suspicion.
He rubbed a hand over his hair, then cupped the back of his neck. “What I started out to do was to clear the air between us. We have to learn to work together, you and I, somehow, some way. We can’t do that without trust.”
“I thought we had been doing it for six months.”
“Does what we have been doing bear any resemblance to the relationship you had with my father as chairman of the board? Is there discussion between us, give and take, complete understanding throughout the decision-making process?”
She shook her head with slow reluctance. “Hardly.”
“Then we haven’t been working together.”
“You realize that what you describe may be impossible for us?”
“I do,” he answered, his tone carrying a hint of steel. “And if it is, one of us will have to go.”
“Which one?” she asked, because she could not help it.
He walked to the door and held it open. His gaze was measuring and somber with regret as he looked back at her. “That’s up to you.”
He left her then. Riva stood for a long moment staring at the door he had closed behind h
im. Her hands were shaking; she noticed that fact without surprise. No one had ever been able to upset her carefully maintained equilibrium like Noel. Had the things he said been a plea or a warning? She could not make up her mind. Nor could she decide which possibility disturbed her the most.
It had grown hot with the advance of noon. The air was saturated with moisture so that breathing was difficult and clothing clung to the skin. On the ride to the restaurant, the acrid and oily exhaust of cars and buses crept into the car, and the glare of the sun off windshields and chrome trim was like facing a battery of spotlights. Stepping inside the door of Commander’s, then, was like entering a cool shrine, one dedicated to quiet and luxurious ease and the pleasures of the palate.
The ritual of being shown to her table, of having the menu placed before her and her napkin shaken out and draped gracefully over her lap, was soothing. She approved of her location, a corner table in an upstairs room overlooking the courtyard. As pleasant as the tables in the court below might appear, with their wrought-iron and glass tops dappled by the shade of a huge and ancient live oak, it was much too hot outside for comfort. On the second floor she could have the coolness of air-conditioning as well as the illusion of being among the upper branches of the great oak, almost as if in a tree house. The dark green of the oak’s foliage was repeated in the interior decor, adding to the effect.
Edison had not yet arrived. Riva was glad in a way, since she was late due to Noel’s intervention. She disliked not being on time; to her mind, it indicated a lack of organization. That Edison had not put in an appearance did nothing to improve her opinion of him on that account, but she also suspected that his lateness came from a form of power play that she despised.
Her impression was confirmed when he arrived. Edison took charge at once, asking for the sommelier and ordering a bottle of Pouilly-Fuisse with a great deal of discussion about vintages and vintners. He declared himself starved and, after barely tasting his wine, opened the menu and summoned the waiter. Without consulting Riva, he began to outline a meal of five courses, including lobster for two. Riva tried to protest, but she was ignored.
“Excuse me?” she said in a louder tone, directing a firm gaze at the waiter.
The man turned to her with deference and a shadow of relief. “Yes, Madame Staulet?”
“My guest will have what he pleases, of course, but I would like the house salad, a crabmeat soufflé, and fresh blueberries.”
The look Edison gave her held equal parts of astonishment and anger. Unruffled, she picked up her wineglass and sipped. He completed his order in brusque tones, then sat back in his chair while the waiter gathered up the menus and went away.
Edison continued to stare at her and then the anger died out of his eyes to be replaced by bemusement. He laced his fingers together on the table’s edge and gave a shake of his head as he said, “I can’t get over it.”
“Yes?”
“I can’t get over how much you’ve changed. I’m dumb-founded.”
“No one stays the same.”
“Oh, sure, but it’s as if you wiped the slate clean and started over.”
She should have remembered, Riva thought, that it was part of a politician’s bag of tricks to be able to size up people. She smiled. “Are you suggesting that I’ve successfully obliterated my lower-class past?”
He shrugged. “Something like that.”
“If so, it wasn’t deliberate. I suppose I’m what’s known as a ‘tweener,’ someone who no longer fits in his or her old life but isn’t really comfortable in the upper echelons, someone not quite one thing or the other.”
“You certainly look as if you belong in the higher reaches.”
“I expect you mean that as a compliment, so I’ll thank you.”
“But still, I can’t help remembering—”
The nature of his memories was plain from the leer in his blue eyes. She said coolly, “I never look back. It isn’t profitable.”
“Never?” he asked, his voice soft.
“Not if I can help it.” She held his gaze, unflinching, for a moment, then deliberately changed the subject. “Where is Anne today? I suppose she’s out campaigning for you?”
“She has a talk this evening at some ladies’ club, but I left her on Royal Street, wandering in and out of the antique shops.”
“She’ll find better bargains out on Magazine.”
“Bargains are the last thing she needs. We have enough old junk already.”
“I happen to like old junk, as you call it.”
He grunted. “Then that’s the only thing you two have in common.”
His attention had strayed. He was gazing about the rest of the restaurant, checking faces. A woman at a table close by smiled at him, and he automatically nodded in return, at the same time reaching to touch the knot in his tie and smooth his hair.
“A modern man, I see.”
If he caught her dry tone, he failed to acknowledge it. “I grew up with old furniture, old dishes. I like things brand spanking new, with clean lines and no clutter and curlicues to catch dust.”
“That’s fallacy, you know. Dust shows up much worse on clear, flat surfaces.”
“Since I don’t do the dusting, it makes no difference to me.”
“Exactly so,” Riva said, and smiled as she watched him take her point.
“Are you baiting me?” he asked, scowling.
She lifted a brow, her green gaze as clear as mineral water. “How can you think that?”
“You always were bright. But we aren’t here to talk about that, or even about Anne or antiques or dust. I want to know what you meant by threatening me.”
“I thought I had made that perfectly plain. This meeting was not my idea, you know. I said all I intended to on Saturday.”
“Did you now? I thought I answered you, too, but that’s not the end of it by a long shot.”
“Hardly. You must decide whether you will cooperate with me or risk the storm caused by the information I can give to the press.”
His lips curved in a smile without humor. “The risk, as I pointed out before, isn’t all mine. You won’t go to the press.”
“I’ve changed more than you know, believe me.”
“And even if you did, it won’t get you what you want, which, as I understand it, is to separate Josh and Erin.”
“No,” she said pleasantly, “but it will give me a great deal of satisfaction.”
“I could give you satisfaction.” His voice deepened suggestively. “If you play your cards right, I might even see my way to sending Josh out of town for a month or so.”
The arrival of the waiter with their salads prevented the necessity of a reply. Riva sat back with her lashes lowered, striving for control. She dared not pick up her wineglass, for her hands were shaking again. She hated confrontation, hated the emotional upheaval of the past few days. What had happened to her staid, even life?
She wondered if it would not have been better to ignore the relationship between her niece and Edison’s son. Maybe she was overreacting; maybe it would come to nothing. She might even be making matters worse with her protectiveness. Certainly she was making things worse for herself.
Nevertheless, she could not stop. Having gone this far, she would see it through. She was also going to make a few things clear to Edison Gallant.
When the waiter had gone, she leaned forward. “Listen to me very carefully,” she said, “because I’m not going to say it again. I will not, repeat, not, go to bed with you.”
“Oh, I think you will,” he said, and spearing a forkful of salad, he thrust it into his mouth and crunched down on it. He chewed steadily, then smiled at her.
She picked up her own salad fork, prodding a piece of crisp spinach for which she had no appetite. “Has it occurred to you,” she mused, “that there is another—shall we say scandal for want of a better word?—that I could mention if I chose. All I need to do is drop the merest hint. Members of the press are the best detectives
in the world, with the best sources. I would not have to be directly involved at all.”
He swallowed hard, the color receding under his tan. “What do you mean?”
“I believe you know.”
“You bitch.”
The virulence of that hissed term startled her. She met his gaze across the table and saw terror and murderous rage reflected there. A chill moved through her. On its heels came puzzlement. She had been thinking of Beth and of Edison’s part in her death. The incident could be damaging to him, but not nearly so much so as his bigamous marriage to her. After all, there was no proof. An instant later, she was assailed by the conviction that Edison was not thinking about Beth at all.
Her eyes narrowing, she said, “There are a great many things I could call you also, none complimentary.”
He was not to be goaded into further indiscretions. His features smoothed into a meaningless smile as he sat back in his chair. He watched her for a long moment before he said, “I underestimated you.”
“An error, I hope, you will not make again?”
“It’s unlikely. How much do you know? Exactly how much?”
She had the feeling she knew nothing at all, though she didn’t intend to say so. “Enough.”
“Knowledge can sometimes be dangerous.”
The words were quiet. That was what made them suddenly frightening. “Often,” she said.
“You should know that I intend to be governor, no matter what I have to do, no matter who gets hurt.”
She lifted her chin. “Can it be that you are now threatening me?”
“Only trying to come to an understanding.”
It was a moment before she spoke, then she said, “Isn’t this all getting a little out of hand? What I asked of you is such a simple thing.”
He gave a slow shake of his head. “You’re interfering in my life.”
“You interfered in mine long ago, or this would not be necessary.”
“That’s something I don’t understand. Just why is all this so necessary to you?”
“I told you. I don’t want you for my niece’s father-in-law.”
“Mighty concerned, aren’t you?”
“I have to be. Margaret is no match for you, and you are unlikely to listen to Boots.” She held his gaze, refusing to give an inch.
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