"About what?" Jacquelyn asked, bewildered by Aunt Perforce's apparent inside knowledge of something Jacquelyn obviously was not privy to.
"About the decorating. After all, the deal Uncle Luther agreed to for the restoration of the mansion was made with Scott McCrann."
Chapter Three
Jacquelyn stumbled down the road as best she could, trying to see through the mist of tears blurring her vision.
It was all too awful. The one person in all the world who she hated most, Scott McCrann, was the new owner of Cypress Halls! And Uncle Luther wanted her to redecorate the mansion, which would eventually fall into the hands of the man who had broken her heart and had ruthlessly run her brother, Gerrard, out of business for revenge.
How could Uncle Luther have been so cruel to put her in such a position? She had always thought he loved her. Surely he must have believed that she no longer had any feelings left for Scott, not even hate. Otherwise, he would never have asked her to subject herself to Scott's presence, knowing that they had been so much in love at one time. How quickly that love had turned to hate!
After Aunt Perforce's startling revelation, Jacquelyn had no longer been able to concentrate on their conversation. She had fibbed that she had promised to meet Austin at the store and had left, preferring to walk the three blocks rather than listen to any more comments from Aunt Perforce about Scott.
Jacquelyn was glad for the cool sundress she had chosen to wear on this balmy day. Emotional upsets always made her feel flushed. She blinked her eyes against the glare of the sun and brushed a tear from her cheek. Her sandals crunched over the shell road, the sound echoing relentlessly in her ears.
As she approached the post office, she saw a tall, rangy figure with unruly light brown hair leaving the building. He stopped. Their eyes met. Jacquelyn's heart gave a sudden lurch. Then anger bubbled up in her.
"Hello, Jacquelyn," said Scott McCrann.
Jacquelyn felt the life draining out of her. Her knees shook, her mouth turned dry. An electric shock wave shot through her. So this was what it felt like, seeing Scott again. She had wondered many times how she would react, had replayed the scene over in her imagination thousands of times. But it hit her harder than she had ever expected.
Scott moved closer. His tall, lanky figure, his shock of wild brown hair, his intense blue eyes rimmed with a thin band of gray around the irises were exactly as she had remembered in a hundred dreams. But there was a difference about him, too. He seemed older than his thirty-four years. Were there sudden shadows in his eyes, shadows that reflected worry or unhappiness? Or was she imagining it?
For an instant, all the tingling excitement of first feeling in love arrested Jacquelyn's emotions. Then the hatred broke through the surface and she stiffened.
Inadvertently, their hands met, and, in spite of herself, Jacquelyn felt the same well-remembered thrill of physical awareness. Time had not dulled his effect on her as much as she had hoped. His strong, tanned fingers squeezed hers in a welcoming touch. Selfishly, she wanted more than that—to feel his arms pulling her close—but then she remembered what a ruthless individual he was, and her heart turned to ice.
For a second, Jacquelyn thought she saw an expression of softness on Scott's face. But then his features turned cold.
"Everyone has been worried about you, Jacquelyn," he said stiffly, releasing her hand.
Did "everyone" include Scott? Had he been worried about her, too? Was there genuine concern for her in his eyes? Did he still care for her?
No, that was impossible, Jacquelyn thought miserably. There had been too many harsh words between them, hurts that went too deep and were too bitter to ever heal.
A multitude of hurting memories were crowding her mind: Scott's warm lips pressing against hers in their first earthshaking kiss; Scott's golden tanned body on the beach that summer beside hers; that feeling of suffocating awareness as his gaze roamed over her scantily beach-clad figure; the shivery touch of his fingers rubbing suntan lotion on her bare shoulders.
Surely Scott must be remembering, too! Jacquelyn flushed at the thought. She could tell by the narrowing of Scott's eyes that he mistook her embarrassment for anger. It was natural that he would suppose she would react to him with hostility.
Then Austin drove up. Jacquelyn's heart screamed "No." She wanted a few more moments with Scott before all the old anger returned. Just a few stolen minutes for a forbidden affair of the heart, for that's all it could ever be with Scott. It was too late for anything more.
The two men greeted each other. Austin gave Jacquelyn a searching look, trying to decide, she supposed, how she was reacting to seeing Scott.
Austin's presence brought reality crashing in on Jacquelyn again, and she marveled that she could have allowed herself, even for a moment, to feel any of the old tingle that Scott had once created in her. It was just the suddenness of seeing him so unexpectedly, she assured herself. There was certainly no love left between them.
"I drove to Aunt Perforce's to pick you up," Austin said. "She said you had started down here on foot." He eyed her quizzically.
"Yes, Aunt Perforce was horoscoping me to death," Jacquelyn explained.
The three of them stood silent for what seemed an eon. Finally, Austin spoke up. "Are you ready?" he asked her, motioning toward the car.
"Yes," Jacquelyn replied, flashing Scott a disdainful glance.
Austin took her arm and helped direct her toward the car. "Well," he said to Scott in parting, "I guess we'll be seeing you tomorrow at Uncle Luther's get-together?"
"Yes, we'll be there," Scott murmured.
Did Jacquelyn detect a peculiar emphasis on the word we? Or was it just her imagination? She knew very well, from what Aunt Perforce had told her, that Scott's date would be Natalie. So what! she thought belligerently. It didn't matter one bit to her whom Scott dated. She had no claim on him anymore and didn't want any.
On the way back to Cypress Halls, Austin drove silently, leaving Jacquelyn alone with her thoughts. She tried to distract her mind with the scenery, with plans on how best to restore Cypress Halls, anything to escape the memories of Scott McCrann. But those memories persisted.
Jacquelyn had developed a mad crush on Scott from the start. But in spite of her intense feeling, considerable time had elapsed before a real romance had developed. She daydreamed about him, worshipped him from a distance when he came to Uncle Luther's home to discuss business. He was cordial to her, but always distant. She later found out that he, too, had been attracted to her from the start, but had thought her too young for him. His defense was to keep his emotional distance.
Then Scott spent several years away from home on business ventures, building his family's fortune. By then his father had died and Scott had taken over the McCrann interests. When he returned to Glen Oaks, Jacquelyn had grown into a young woman.
That summer, their romance bloomed—all tenderness and passion blended into a sweeping intensity. Jacquelyn thought nothing could come between them. She had been destined all her life to belong to Scott McCrann. It almost convinced her that Aunt Perforce was right—the stars had brought their lives together. But if that were true, they had also been fated to part.
The trouble between them began when Jacquelyn insisted on completing her college degree. Scott, accustomed to taking charge of matters, urged her to drop out of school and marry him at once. What was the point of her having a college degree? He could certainly afford to take care of her, and planned to do so. But she showed her own stubborn streak and stood her ground.
It was their first angry quarrel. Scott said she was being unreasonable and stubborn. She accused him of being dictatorial. Finally, love won out. Scott tempered his demands. They patched things up and she went on to finish school. But then their differences flared anew. Scott had visited her frequently during her school year in New Orleans. They had carefully avoided talking about their misunderstanding over her motivation to finish school. She realized now that that had been a f
atal mistake. She had never been able to make Scott understand the need she had to establish herself as an independent individual before becoming his wife. When she broke the news to him that she intended to work at her profession as an interior decorator for at least a year before settling down to marriage, it had been the last straw. Scott had stormed out, saying she'd made her choice between a career and him.
Even that quarrel might have been patched up. But when Jacquelyn discovered what Scott had done to her brother, the intense love she had once felt turned into a fury that consumed the tenderness she had once felt for him. The memory of their physical attraction still lingered, but that was all.
Austin pulled up at Cypress Halls, and Jacquelyn was grateful to be back. "See you later," she said, hopping out of the car.
After lunch, Uncle Luther took Jacquelyn over to the main wing of the house to discuss plans for the renovation.
"Well, Jacquelyn," Uncle Luther said at last. "Have you made up your mind? Will you stay and redecorate Cypress Halls?"
Until that moment, Jacquelyn couldn't have said for sure what her decision would be. She felt very obligated to Uncle Luther. Yet she dreaded having to deal with Scott, who was heartlessly taking her uncle's home from him indirectly.
Uncle Luther couldn't possibly know what he was asking of her. He couldn't know the aching pain she felt. He had no way of guessing how much hurt she was bound to endure in the company of Scott McCrann. And she couldn't tell him. It was a matter too private and too close to her deepest emotions, to discuss how her tender young love had been twisted and turned into hate by exposure to the evil ruthlessness of the man to whom she had once given her heart.
And yet, as Jacquelyn looked at Uncle Luther peering at her over his half-moon reading glasses, she saw a glimmer in his eyes reflecting the same kind of intense pain she herself had felt when she and Scott had learned to hate each other. It was like a lightning bolt hitting her! How selfish she would be to refuse. It was partly because of her that Uncle Luther was in this position. In her young mind, she had not realized the sacrifice her uncle had made for her by selling off the remaining acreage of Cypress Halls to send her to school. He had sacrificed what he loved to give her a chance at what she wanted in life. He had done it unselfishly, never asking for anything in return. And now, when he needed her help, how could she put her own feelings first?
This was Jacquelyn's opportunity to give Uncle Luther what he wanted most in life—Cypress Halls restored to mint condition. And by supervising the redecorating, she would be putting her family's stamp on the mansion to carry the Cordoway touch on into the future, in spite of the fact that the estate would fall into someone else's ownership. It was more than a job Uncle Luther was asking her to do. It was a labor of love. It was only love stronger than her hate of Scott that could keep her here.
"Yes," she said softly. "I'm going to stay."
"That's my girl," Uncle Luther said huskily, taking her hands in his massive ones and patting them kindly. "I've missed you. It will be wonderful having you here again, and I know that only you, who has a real feeling for this old place, could restore it in the proper fashion."
"It's going to be a real challenge," Jacquelyn admitted.
"And one you will meet with your usual high degree of success," Uncle Luther replied confidently.
"I hope so, Uncle Luther," Jacquelyn replied, her nerve ends tingling with excitement at the prospect. It would be a marvelous opportunity for her. Her deep love for Cypress Halls could find a visual expression through her decorating abilities. And with the carte blanche Uncle Luther was offering her and an apparently endless bank account, Jacquelyn could select the very finest of everything. She could hardly wait to get started.
But Uncle Luther had other plans before Jacquelyn could actually begin any real work. He wanted his niece to spend a few more days recuperating, and he had planned a couple of parties for her benefit. She knew at least one of those parties included Scott and Natalie.
"Roque," Uncle Luther said to her, "like chess, is a game that not only tests the skill, but also probes the psychology of the contestants."
It was the afternoon of the following day. Uncle Luther's guests were assembled under the moss-draped limbs of the giant oaks around his roque courts. Nearby, a long picnic table was loaded down with Hattie's crawfish gumbo along with other spicy bayou dishes. The guests had begun arriving at three o'clock. Among the neighbors and friends Uncle Luther had invited—some from as far away as New Orleans—were Ed Jarmon, Uncle Luther's lawyer, and his wife, and Uncle Luther's physician, Dr. Dave Chauvin, and his wife. Aunt Perforce was present; as were Scott and Natalie.
Jacquelyn's first response on seeing Natalie was to eye her closely. Just how close had she and Scott become? How possessive did Scott act around Natalie? Did Natalie respond to Scott like a woman in love? She could not be sure, Jacquelyn thought miserably.
Natalie's wild, dark beauty was still as intense as Jacquelyn remembered. Her black eyes sparkled with the high mirth of a triumphant woman. A feeling stirred in Jacquelyn. Was it a reawakening of the jealousy Jacquelyn felt so ashamed of? Jacquelyn wondered whether the smile on Natalie's face reflected a true inner happiness or whether she was smirking over having won Scott.
Scott, on the other hand, looked almost angry. He shot Jacquelyn a withering glance, mumbled a perfunctory hello to her and lost himself on the other side of the yard.
Finally, Uncle Luther called for a game of roque, and the contestants squared off on the playing field.
The roque court, thirty feet by sixty feet, bore some resemblance to croquet. But the wickets were made of steel and were set rigidly in concrete foundations. The playing surface was smooth, hard-packed sand rather than grass, and the boundaries were concrete curbing that surrounded the court. Unlike simple lawn croquet, roque challenged the skill of the players in banking their hard rubber balls off the curbs.
Jacquelyn's upbringing at Cypress Halls had included a thorough schooling in the fine points of the game. She knew, for example, that the wickets were made of 5/8-inch steel and the hard rubber balls were 3 1/8 inches in diameter. As in serious croquet matches, no self-respecting roque player would enter a game without his own personal custom-made mallet. Uncle Luther's mallet, which he kept in a glass case on the wall of his study between games, had been ordered by Abercrombie and Fitch from John Jaques and Son, Ltd., in England. It was a highly polished, formidable piece made of lignum vitae with a smooth face of laminated plastic on one end and rubber on the other.
Uncle Luther had just finished a series of aggressive plays and had walked over to the bench where Jacquelyn was sitting. He was breathing hard and his face looked pinched. He slipped a pill under his tongue as he sat down.
Consternation furrowed Jacquelyn's brow. "Are you all right, Uncle Luther?" she asked, concerned.
"Yes, yes," he replied impatiently. "Just old age." The color was returning to his face, and his breathing grew easier. He brushed aside any further questions about his health and talked about the game. After his statement about how the game revealed the psychology of the players, he went on to say, "You can learn a lot about a man by watching him play." He motioned in the direction of the court.
Scott was standing over a ball, his mallet poised. His tall, lean frame was hunched over slightly as he eyed the ball, just ready to smack it. He was the picture of intense concentration, a jungle cat poised to spring.
Jacquelyn couldn't keep her gaze from straying to the ripple of his thigh muscles under his tight trousers, his lean hips and the broad shoulders that strained against his white shirt. She might hate the man, but her physical desire could still be aroused by the sight of his magnificent body, she thought with a shameful blush.
"You take Scott, there," Uncle Luther continued. "He plays a hard, serious game. A little bit on the ruthless side." The old man chuckled. "Maybe that's why I like to play against him. Doctor Chauvin cheats. Have to keep an eye on him all the time or he will nudge a ba
ll when no one is watching to gain a better position. Austin is only a medium to fair player—doesn't have enough of the killer instinct. But he's patient and has a good eye and occasionally pulls off some brilliant long shots."
Jacquelyn listened politely, but she didn't particularly enjoy these roque games of Uncle Luther's.
The men took them too seriously. Right now there was an ugly, sullen challenge in the overtones of the game in progress. Uncle Luther was right—the game was a conflict of will and character.
"Who is winning?" said a soft-edged voice from behind her.
Jacquelyn turned to stare directly into Natalie's face. Her cheeks flamed involuntarily. Was it from shame at feeling jealous of Natalie, whose beauty had attracted Scott?
"At this point, it is still anybody's game," Uncle Luther said, rising as his turn came around again.
Natalie's eyes stayed fixed on Jacquelyn. She gave Jacquelyn a challenging look from under long, curved eyelashes. "Will you be here for a long visit, Jacquelyn?" she asked slowly.
Jacquelyn raised her chin in an answering gesture of defiance. "Perhaps," she replied noncommittally. "I may even move back for a while. Uncle Luther wants me to help him restore the main wing of Cypress Halls."
Natalie smiled, but her fingers drummed nervously on her thigh. She obviously was covering up a lot of inner tension. What a shame, Jacquelyn thought distantly. She and Natalie had once been close friends. Even the undercurrent of rivalry between them during adolescence had not driven them apart. But now…
Suddenly, Natalie stood up and reached for Jacquelyn's hand. "Come on, Jackie. Let's go for a stroll through the garden." It was a bit of a jolt to hear Natalie call her by the familiar diminutive form of her name, as she had done when the two were children.
Jacquelyn hesitated. Natalie shot her a dark-eyed expectant look. Slowly, Jacquelyn rose and followed.
"Remember how often we played hide-and-seek here when we were kids?" Natalie asked lightly. She reached up and touched a honeysuckle blossom.
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