by Francis Ray
He picked up the phone and dialed. He already knew what she’d want him to do—forgive and move on. Just as he knew he wouldn’t be able to do it.
* * *
Her wide-brimmed lavender straw hat in her hand, Claudette strolled through the beautiful flower gardens on the grounds of her estate. It had been so long since she had taken the time to enjoy them. She had spent a lot of time playing in them as a child, dreaming within them as a young woman, crying in them as an adult. Regardless of the season, there were always flowers or shrubs in bloom.
In the spring the grounds came alive with yellow tulips, azaleas, and flowering dogwoods for a dazzling array of color. This spring she had been too busy with work and being a new bride to notice. Now, in late June, old-fashioned hydrangeas lined the red brick walkway. The numerous beds were bursting with caladiums, begonias, impatiens, and daylilies.
There were five gardens in all, each connected to the other by a walkway, and each richly embellished with fine art pieces collected from around the world, or a sentimental object like the five-foot bronze statue given to her grandmother by her doting husband when she first began to design the gardens.
Her parents had added three water fountains and a more formal garden after their honeymoon trip to the Palace of Versailles. They had wanted to bring the beauty and grandeur of Europe home and had succeeded.
Seeing the wrought iron gazebo, an octagon-shaped structure braced with five two-foot-wide trellises connected by a three-foot circular ring open on two sides, she marveled again that she carried the blood in her veins of the man who had created such timeless beauty.
She’d spent many pleasurable hours sitting at the table with her dolls or her favorite book. Her parents and the staff had always known where to find her if she was missing. Life had seemed so complicated then. She had no idea what complicated was. But she had always been keenly aware of her responsibility to her name.
Her fingers closed around the cool metal. Her ancestors hadn’t faltered despite overwhelming odds. She couldn’t, either. She knew what had to be done.
Honor above all else.
* * *
Claudette had barely closed the front door when she saw Maurice coming toward her. His face was tight with anger. “Maurice, what is it?”
“Where have you been?” he snapped. “The servants are all gone and I come downstairs to find you had left without telling me.”
“I’m sorry.” Her arms went around his neck. Just before they did, she caught the flicker of surprise in his eyes. “You left so early yesterday that I let you rest this morning. Please forgive me.”
“O-Of course.” His arms lifted to slowly close around her waist.
She leaned back, sliding her hand over the fine wool of his suit coat, and stared up at him. “I should have come inside instead of going to the gardens. Have you eaten?”
The pout returned to his face. “Bridget wouldn’t cook. You should fire her.”
Laughing, she kissed his cheek. “I can’t fire her because she didn’t want to cook on her day off. Besides, in father’s will, he gave her a job for her lifetime, as he did all of the servants.”
“They’re all insolent and rude to me,” he persisted.
Shock crossed her face. “Then I’ll speak to them. You’re my husband.”
Satisfaction crossed his. “Thank you.”
“In the meantime, I’ll fix you a late lunch. You can open a bottle of chardonnay and keep me company while I run an idea by you.”
“What idea?” he asked, lines running across his forehead.
Stepping back, she looped her arm through his and started to the kitchen. “How does opening a branch in Seattle, New York, or Chicago sound?”
He stopped dead in his tracks. “You serious?”
“Very. I think it’s time to expand.” She looked thoughtful. “I don’t want to present the idea to the board until I have all the details, including the site, nailed down. The only thing is that I don’t have time to scout all the areas and work up the prospectus with all these new contracts coming up.”
“I could do it!” he quickly said, his excitement clear.
She hesitated. “Maurice, you have so much to do already. You’re wooing this new client, plus the work you already have on your desk. Scouting those cities would take three weeks at a minimum. Becoming a partner doesn’t mean you have to work yourself to death.”
His eyes gleamed. He licked his lips. “Anything for you, my sweet. I’d hate being away from you, but it would be for us.”
Claudette’s face softened. “I don’t know what I would have done without you these past months. Father would be so happy with the way things are going.”
Maurice kissed her cheek. “I feel sure he would, too.”
“There’ll be no stopping us. Do you think you could leave tonight?” she asked, excitement in her voice.
He patted her hand affectionately. “Whatever you say, darling. I’m yours to command.”
Claudette smiled back. The overpowering fear that had plagued her lately receded. She wasn’t Claude Thibodeaux’s daughter for nothing. He had taught her to swim with the sharks and to soar with the eagles. It was past time she remembered and acted accordingly.
twenty-five
Monday morning at nine sharp, Claudette called the meeting of Thibodeaux’s top-level executives to order. The first item on the agenda was to tell them that Maurice was on a fact-finding trip for the next week or longer and that all his files were to be given to another agent. When he returned, she’d have some exciting news to share with them.
A few of the executives couldn’t hide their surprise and satisfaction upon hearing that he was gone. Was Claudette telling the entire truth or was there trouble in the marriage? Was Maurice on his way out the door? Not by a flicker of emotion did Claudette give them a clue. She was as poised as ever in a turquoise tweed suit. Her eyes were clear and direct, her smile natural and open.
Damien kept his expression carefully blank. He’d spoken with his father this morning—Jacques had told him of Maurice’s accusation. Unlike Maurice, his father had a strict moral code. He might care for Claudette deeply, but he’d never act upon it. He just wanted to see that she was happy.
Damien didn’t know if he could be that honorable, to sit back and watch another man abuse what he’d cherish. Thankfully, he wouldn’t have to put it to the test. He wasn’t the sharing type.
“Damien, I hope that frown doesn’t bode ill for the Anderson contract,” Claudette said from the head of the oval table.
“No,” Damien quickly said, dragging his mind back. “Another matter entirely.” He rushed on as Claudette stared at him. “Each of you has a copy of the contract in front of you. We’ll run through the high points, but I believe we should accept. Please open the Anderson file and turn to page two.”
An hour and a half later they wrapped up, voting unanimously to accept the contract as Damien recommended.
“Damien, can I see you for a moment, please?” Claudette asked as people began to file out of the room.
“Certainly.” He stuck the papers back in his leather briefcase and took the seat to her right. There was no sense speculating about what she wanted. Claudette didn’t waste time beating around the bush.
“You appear preoccupied lately,” she said when the door closed behind the last person. “Is it a personal matter or business?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, hoping she didn’t see his cheeks flush. They certainly felt hot. “Personal.”
“Oh.” She glanced away, then back. “I hope you understand that I’m not being nosy when I ask if things are going badly?”
He thought of himself buried deep in Angelique last night and he flushed again. He bowed his head and faked a cough into his loose fist. “No.”
When he glanced up, he discovered his cheeks weren’t the only ones that were flushed. He was delighted by the discovery. His dad was as old-fashioned as they came. He and Claudette would make a great c
ouple once she came to her senses and dumped Maurice. “By the way, thanks again for Saturday.”
“I enjoyed it. St. Clair’s is a wonderful gallery.”
My dad is pretty wonderful, too. “If you ever find you have any free time on your hands, I can assure you that Dad would welcome you stopping by again.”
Her open expression closed. She reached for the folder on her desk and stood. “This is a busy time for the company, as you’re aware. Saturday was a fluke. I don’t see how I’ll have any free time, and if I do, without Maurice here, I’m sure I won’t feel much like going out.”
Damien came to his feet. The bastard still had a hold on her. “If you ever change your mind, just drop by.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Good work as usual, Damien.”
Damien watched her walk from the room, head erect, shoulders straight, and shook his head. “You sure picked a tough one, Dad. But then, neither one of us ever liked anything easy.”
* * *
Claudette saw the white-handled wicker basket filled with flowering pink azaleas, ivy, and caladiums the moment she opened the door to her office. Her secretary had told her she had a delivery, but hadn’t mentioned what it was.
It wasn’t unusual to receive unexpected gifts from firms that did business with them or who wanted to do business with them, but they tended to stay away from sending flowers to her for fear they would be viewed as sexist.
Shutting the door, she crossed the office. The distinctive logo of her favorite florist gave no clue. Behind her desk, she pulled the white envelope from the holder, picked up a crystal letter opener, and slit the seam. She read the note written in an atrocious scrawl she had seen many times in the past.
A friend forever. Jacques.
Jacques was always thoughtful and solicitous of others. He’d proven time and again it wasn’t blood that made you who you were but strength of character. She had no doubt that Maurice’s wild accusation that Jacques had a romantic interest in her was groundless. Jeanne, Maurice’s wife, had been a beautiful, vivacious woman who had charmed everyone she met.
Claudette had never lit up a room with her presence or had men vying to bring her a drink at a social gathering. But she could run a multimillion-dollar company and she knew that was what she’d better get back to, not comparing herself to another woman. Some women could probably do it all, but she wasn’t one of them.
Laying the card aside, she reached for a folder on her desk. But the basket of flowers caught her attention again. She touched the delicate pink azalea blossoms, unaware of the wistful expression on her face. Then, picking up the folder, she went to work.
* * *
By Monday night, Rafe thought he had his emotions under control and was ready to see Kristen again, but the intense ache he felt the instant she came through the door and into his shop made him realize she’d always touch him deeply, make him want the impossible. Her hair was braided, a long-sleeved, cream-colored blouse draped softly over her high breasts. Her brown capri pants accentuated long legs that would wrap around a man’s waist. She’d remembered to dress casually and wear long sleeves to save her arms from flying chips of wood.
Now, all he had to do was save her from himself. Not sure if he was skillful enough to hide his growing feelings for her, he switched his attention to the three young men with her.
He saw the eagerness in their smiling faces, the anticipation in their slight swagger. They hadn’t hit enough walls to become discouraged. Rafe hoped they never would.
“Hello, Kristen. Guys. You ready to go to work?”
There was an affirmative chorus, as Rafe had expected. “Good. Since I want to ensure that each of you learns as much as you can as quickly as you can, I’ve asked my assistant to work with us.” He turned to the elderly man beside him. “Jim Dobbins,” Rafe said, then completed the introduction of the slim, gray-haired black man in gray-striped coveralls, khaki shirt, and badly scuffed work boots.
“Pleased to meet ya’ll,” Jim greeted, a gap-toothed smile on his wrinkled brown face.
“First thing we need to do is review safety rules.” Rafe expected the groans and ignored them. “Afterwards we’ll review the plans and begin work by measuring and cutting the rips to one-inch widths, arrange and cut the desired lengths, then glue up and clamp. When you come back Thursday we’ll begin construction of the box walls.” He walked over to the workbench and lifted a length of wood. “I think ash will complement all of the wood you’ve chosen. We’ll then mold the top and bottom on a shaper. The bottom will be fastened with screws and that’s when you’ll be able to see your three-wood box begin to take shape.”
“Mine’s six,” Kristen said, laughing.
Did it sound forced or was it just his imagination? His gaze bounced from her to his assistant. “Jim will help you. Let’s get started.” Rafe went to the workbench and went over the safety rules and equipment. Not once did he glance toward Kristen. He trusted Jim to guide and help her. What he didn’t trust was himself.
* * *
Rafe was avoiding her and there was nothing she could do about it. Kristen kept sneaking peeks at him as he helped the boys, but he never came near her. The couple of times she had started toward him, Jim had stopped her. Not wanting to hurt the older man’s feelings, she had let him help her. As the evening advanced, it became obvious to her that Jim was there to keep her away from Rafe.
The back of her hand brushed across eyes that stung with unshed tears as she glued her cherry wood to walnut. She worked by herself on a card table while Rafe oversaw the young men with firmness and patience.
She tried to be happy that they were getting along well, that he’d recovered from the call from his sister, that he must see that he didn’t have to be alone. She couldn’t. She wanted to bask in his praise, share the warmth of his hand guiding hers to make the exact cut on the wood.
“You’re doin’ real good, miss,” Jim said, standing beside her. “Wouldn’t surprise me none iffin you didn’t finish first.”
Plastering a smile on her face, she looked up. “Thank you. I had a good teacher.”
“Him that taught me and gave me this here job,” the older man said.
Kristen’s hand paused in reaching for the strip of mahogany. “Rafe taught you?”
He nodded his graying head and sat in the folding chair across from her. “I was at the supply house askin’ anybody that would stop iffin I could work for them. Social ’curity check is not enough with the high cost of my medicine.” His hand rubbed across his thin chest. “Nobody paid me much mind. After a couple of weeks I was about to give up. Rafe came up and said he’d seen me a couple of times and if I was tellin’ the truth, he’d like to help.”
“What did you do?”
“Took him to my old truck and showed him my social ’curity check stub and the list of my medicines. Been workin’ for him ever since.” He braced his long arms on the table. “He watches it real close to see that I don’t go over what I’m supposed to make so they don’t cut my social ’curity none. Buys my medicine or takes me to the grocery store if need be. Don’t take much for me to live, but shore is nice knowin’ I got a job. A man needs to feel like he’s doing somethin’ worthwhile. Rafe sees that I do. He’s a good man.”
Moisture gathered in her eyes again. “I know.”
He straightened. His eyes were shrewd behind the plain, black-framed eyeglasses. “Figured you did. My mama always said anythin’ worth havin’ is worth workin’ for. You believe that?”
The huge lump in her throat didn’t feel so big anymore. “Yes.”
He nodded briskly. “You work on that there box a bit slower then. Wouldn’t want you to finish too soon.”
“No, I wouldn’t,” she agreed, unnecessarily rearranging her wood. “Do you have family here, Jim?”
“Sure do.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out his worn black billfold. Papers slid out, but he stuck them back and proudly showed her a picture of a plump baby boy and a little girl. �
�My grandchildren. Nothin’ like grandchildren.”
Kristen listened to Jim proudly talk about his family and thought that, for Rafe, if he didn’t let go of the past, he’d never experience the same joy.
* * *
The next day at work, Kristen was unable to get her thoughts off Rafe. She’d spoken to Lilly that morning and learned that he refused even to discuss seeing his father. While Kristen intensely disliked his father for what he had done to Rafe, she had to admit that after seeing Rafe struggle with his rage and his refusal to let anyone get close, perhaps Lilly had been right. He needed to forgive and move on. Until he did, there would be no future for them.
“Kristen?”
Kristen jerked at the sound of her name. Jacques was standing beside her desk. From the way he was staring at her, that had not been the first time he’d called her name. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Is everything all right?” he asked. “You were preoccupied when I picked up the boys, and you’re the same way today. I hate to ask, but does it have anything to do with Maurice?”
“No.” She hesitated for a moment, then, seeing that the few customers there were browsing, decided to take a chance. “I’m attracted to a man and he’s fighting it.”
“Ah.” Jacques folded his arms and leaned against her desk. “Wish I could give you some advice, but I seem to be having a bit of difficulty in that area myself.”
Kristen sighed. “Why is this so hard? My parents knew the moment they saw each other.”
“I felt the same way about Jeanne. Perhaps life was simpler than it is today,” he reasoned. “Or perhaps it’s to make us appreciate love more when it finally works out.”
“Until it does, how do you keep from giving up?” she asked, voicing her fears.
He shrugged. “I guess that depends on how deeply you love. Life offers no guarantees except that if you don’t try, you’ll certainly fail,” he said. “Now, I’d better check on the browsers.”
Her hand grazed the smooth top of the writing box, as it did more and more frequently these days. She had no thought of walking away. She just had to figure out how to slip past Rafe’s defenses. She’d seen the way he looked at her. He cared. Getting him to act upon his feelings, however, was going to be the most difficult task she’d ever set for herself.