Christmas at Black Cherry Retreat

by Angela Britnell

  Everything slammed back and she remembered what they were doing and all the other things she’d been worried about before spotting Tom lounged against the wall and scanning the crowd for her.

  ‘What’s wrong? ’

  ‘It’s not you. Honestly. I suppose it’s thinking about meeting Allain …’ She stopped right there. Beginning with another lie wasn’t any way to make progress with Tom. ‘That’s not the complete truth. I rang my mother yesterday and we talked about Allain. She sounded worried about something. I’m not sure …’

  ‘They’re calling our flight,’ Tom interrupted as an announcement came over the loudspeakers. ‘We’d better go.’ He squeezed her hand. ‘I’m not putting you off, sweetheart. We don’t have long in Charlotte to catch our connecting flight and we may not get the chance to talk properly until we get there.’ He frowned. ‘Is Dupre meeting you at the airport?’

  Fee nodded, and hitched her backpack on again. ‘It’s okay. We’ll talk later.’ It wasn’t okay really but she’d left it too late to start the discussion. ‘Come on.’ By his hesitation she knew it wouldn’t take long for Tom to sit her back down and insist on talking and to hell with the flight. But if she didn’t go now she might lose her nerve completely.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Tom gave Fee a quick thumbs-up from the back of the plane when she glanced back at him over her shoulder as they touched down at Louis Armstrong International Airport. The people in front of her started to move so she had to move too. He kept his eyes on her as she made her way off the plane.

  Out at the security gate he hung back and watched from a distance as Fee hesitated for a second but then waved and walked towards a man in the waiting crowd. She held herself stiffly as he attempted to give her a hug and Tom couldn’t imagine what she must be feeling. It was hard to get his head around the idea of Fee never having known her father but he was trying – all part of his grandmother’s advice. She’d trotted out the old “walk a mile in another man’s shoes” adage when he shared Fee’s story.

  Allain Dupre seemed to be trying to persuade her about something but she kept shaking her head. It took all of Tom’s fading self-control not to rush over and interfere. Fee knew he wasn’t planning to leave until she did which meant all she had to do was turn around and call him over if she needed help. He wasn’t happy with her decision not to introduce him to Allain right away but she’d suggested that seeing them arrive together might be off-putting. Tom had agreed to find a hotel room as long as she promised to ring when she got the chance.

  The two walked away together and he didn’t let himself move. Tom could follow them without being seen if he chose to but refused to break their agreement. Planting his feet in place he gritted his teeth and waited until they were out of sight.

  Tom glanced around and spotted a sign for hotel bookings. He’d get a room in the closest hotel to Dupre’s house in the Garden District and to heck with the expense. If it wouldn’t get him arrested he’d camp on the doorstep. Once he was settled he’d call Mee Maw and give her an update. She’d had a new sparkle in her eyes when he left and threatened to contact the local Pine Ridge Gazette newspaper to offer her services as an agony aunt, convinced she’d found her calling in life.

  Once he had a room sorted Tom headed out to the taxi rank. He scanned around but didn’t spot Fee so guessed Dupre must have brought his own car. There was nothing more he could do except get to the hotel and wait on her call.

  Being patient chafed like a pair of new shoes but there was no choice.

  Fee wished she hadn’t phoned her mother yesterday because the extra layer of worry made the meeting with Allain harder. No doubt she’d struck him as uptight and unfriendly but hopefully he’d put it down to simple nerves. He’d suggested they stop for dinner at one of his restaurants but she’d refused. The last thing she wanted was to have to deal with the whole food issue straight away plus the added strain of possibly being introduced to people he knew. Fee had claimed to be tired and said she would rather get something to eat at his house.

  ‘I’m looking forward to sharing my beautiful city with you, cherie. New Orleans is unique.’

  The way he pronounced the city’s name, making it sound like one word, made her smile. She loved listening to Allain’s smooth Cajun drawl but it wasn’t always easy to understand and they’d already joked about the vast difference in the English they both theoretically spoke. She’d tried to hide her surprise when they emerged from the airport to discover a large, black limousine with a driver waiting on them.

  ‘It’s about ten miles from here to the French Quarter and my house is on the down river end of St. Charles Avenue.’

  Despite everything Fee’s interest in being in a new place rose. St. Charles Avenue was renowned for its ornate mansions, most of which were built in the early twentieth century for the wealthy elite of New Orleans. As a designated Historic District it was a mecca for tourists and guaranteed to make any photographer happy. It would be an interesting contrast to the abandoned barns and houses she’d spent her time photographing yesterday.

  ‘In the morning we could take a ride on the streetcar so you can get your bearings and wield your camera.’ His frank pleasure in her company made Fee guilty about the ambiguity of her own reaction. It wasn’t hard to see why her mother was attracted to Allain all those years ago. Although he must be around sixty he was still a charming, handsome man.

  ‘That would be great.’ She struggled to infuse her voice with some warmth.

  ‘I know this is tough for you.’ His quiet words struck her heart. ‘It’s not easy for me either if that’s any consolation.’

  The promise of honesty she’d made to Tom came back to haunt her and Fee knew she owed this man nothing less. ‘When we get to your home I’d like to talk properly.’

  ‘Of course,’ Allain agreed and began to point out various landmarks along the way making it easy for them to slip into ordinary conversation about the city. ‘This area was very fortunate during Hurricane Katrina and escaped any serious flooding.’

  Fee noticed one of the distinctive streetcars making its way down the centre of St. Charles Avenue. A myriad of lights twinkled and shone from inside the extravagant houses, all of them built in differing architectural styles.

  ‘It’s a pity you’re too early to see our Christmas decorations. Even the streetcars are lit up. We don’t do quiet here.’

  They halted in front of a grandiose red brick house guarded by the intricate wrought iron gates and railings unique to New Orleans.

  ‘My great-grandfather chose the Colonial Revival style with Corinthian columns because he liked to make a show,’ Allain said with a touch of humour. He gestured to an over-the-top white building across the other side of the street. ‘I think it was his effort to compete with the Wedding Cake house. Of course it failed and that one’s always top of the viewing list. C’est la vie.’

  ‘Yours is still very impressive.’

  Allain gestured to his driver that they were ready and immediately Fee’s door was opened so she could step out onto the pavement.

  ‘Thank you, Charles. I won’t need you first thing in the morning. I’ll call.’

  ‘I hope I’m not interrupting your normal work schedule?’ Fee asked.

  ‘Not at all.’ He smiled. ‘I’m the boss. I can go in when I want or not at all.’

  She wasn’t deceived by his laid-back attitude and couldn’t imagine he planned to retire anytime soon. The next hour passed in a blur as he gave her a tour of the stunning house.

  ‘You must be hungry by now? I know I am,’ Allain declared.

  ‘Yes, I am,’ Fee conceded.

  ‘Good. My cook left us a pot of her outstanding Jambalaya. I hope you like your food spicy?’

  There was no point pretending because she didn’t want to make herself ill. Fee explained about her ulcer and the restrictions it placed on her diet. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve heard so much about the Cajun and Creole foods but most are off-limits for me.
’

  ‘My dear. You have nothing to be sorry for.’ He frowned. ‘How about a poached egg on wheat toast with a little smoked salmon?’

  ‘That sounds delicious but will it suit you?’ Fee asked and laughed when he assured her he’d doctor his up with plenty of hot sauce.

  The kitchen ran the whole width of the house and resembled the set of a TV cookery show with its massive high-end appliances, acres of marble countertops and gleaming copper pans hanging from a metal rack suspended from the ceiling. She perched on a bright red leather stool at the breakfast bar and sipped a glass of sparkling water while Allain worked on getting their meal ready. He’d turned down her not-very-insistent offer to help after she’d declared herself willing but not very able.

  ‘What’s your mother doing these days? Allain asked

  It would sound awful to admit they hadn’t seen each other in years but she couldn’t pretend everything was fine between them. ‘That’s not an easy question to answer.’

  He set down the box of eggs and turned around. ‘Why not? Is something wrong with her?’

  ‘Not as far as I know.’ As simply as she could she told Allain about her difficult childhood and the way it’d affected her relationship with her mother. ‘I suppose she did the best she could,’ Fee said with a shrug, struggling not to sound bitter.

  Allain’s smile disappeared leaving deep-set frown lines cutting grooves into his narrow, lean face. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ she said hurriedly. ‘You may not want to hear this but I’m pretty sure if you’d married my mother it wouldn’t have lasted. She’s never stayed long with any man so I’ve no reason to believe you’d have been different.’ The sudden pallor under his tanned skin hinted at his distress and she wished she could retract her words.

  ‘If you’re trying to make me feel better about leaving you’re doing a lousy job.’ His throwaway comment made her laugh out loud. ‘You’re so like your dear mother.’ A broad grin spread across Allain’s face.

  Fee wasn’t sure how to respond without sounding rude.

  ‘I meant it as a compliment, cherie.’

  No doubt he did but as far as she could see the worst aspects of her character came from Maddy.

  ‘Remember I was an idealistic young man when I met her.’ Allain’s voice softened and she sensed him drift away to another place and time. ‘She was a hell of a way to celebrate turning twenty-one. I’d never met anyone like Maddy.’ His emerald eyes shone. ‘Never did again either. My late wife, Ellen, was a wonderful woman, but she wasn’t your mother.’

  An awkward silence hung between them and Fee took another sip of water.

  ‘Not much of a host, am I?’ Allain suddenly asked. ‘You must be starving. I’ll get on with cooking our eggs.’ He turned away and quietly went back to work. Soon he shared out the food between two plates and returned to join her. ‘Would you care for a glass of wine?’

  She regretted she couldn’t indulge because it would help to smooth out the rough edges of conversation. ‘My ulcer wouldn’t be happy.’ Fee felt the urge to share something of herself with Allain. ‘I overindulged in alcohol and pain medicine when I was working to deal with the stress and I’ve made a life choice to avoid both now.’ She plastered on a smile. ‘My doctor warned me I could forget celebrating my fortieth birthday if I didn’t. I’m not sure I’ll be hanging the flags out either but that’s not his fault.’ Her self-deprecating remark fell flat as Allain looked so sympathetic tears pricked at the backs of her eyes. ‘Let’s eat,’ she declared and picked up her knife and fork. Fee exhaled quietly when he didn’t say another word and followed her lead.

  Half-way through eating the front door slammed.

  ‘Papa, where are you?’ A girl’s high-pitched voice rang out. ‘In the kitchen?’ The swing door flung open and a stunning blonde, all long, tanned limbs and scarlet high heels ran into the room. She stopped dead at the sight of them.

  Papa? Fee waited for Allain to say something, anything, but he remained chalk-white and silent.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Tom groaned as he read Fee’s text. How the hell did she think he’d sleep tonight now?

  More complications. Meet me at Cafe du Monde in the morning at eight. Love Fee.

  Talk about cryptic. He hoped Dupre hadn’t rejected her. Underneath her layer of bravado he’d sensed Fee needed to make a connection with the guy. Tom wanted to rush over right away and reassure her she could do without Allain Dupre with his flashy house and million dollar restaurants.

  Let me come to you now. Please. Love Tom.

  He sent the terse reply and the phone beeped with an immediate answer. Tom knew what it’d say before he glanced at the screen. A polite refusal. Be like that you stubborn woman. For two pins he’d go around to Dupre’s house and throw rocks at Fee’s window to make her talk to him but there were multiple problems with his crazy scenario. The first was that it’d probably end with Dupre calling the cops on him. The second, and most important, was that Fee would flay him alive. Neither appealed.

  He’d call for room service and get something to eat because it was that or head into the city and find a bar which was a lousy idea. An hour later he stretched out in bed after stuffing himself with crawfish étouffée. The spicy Cajun shellfish dish, served over boiled rice, was his new favourite food. He smiled at the idea of trying to persuade Aunt Ina to add it to the Mockingbird’s traditional “meat and three” Southern menu.

  Tom closed his eyes and tried not to think about Fee but at six in the morning he gave up. He took a long, cold shower in an effort to feel less corpse-like. When he stepped out of the hotel his eyes adjusted to the half-light as the first golden slivers of dawn crept into the morning sky. Setting off down St. Charles Avenue he started the nearly three mile walk towards Decatur Street. If nothing else it should work off some of his energy. Tom was relieved Fee hadn’t dragged them here in the height of the summer when he’d heard the humidity was so high as to drench anyone stupid enough to linger outside for more than a few minutes.

  Tom didn’t pay a ton of attention to all the fancy houses although he imagined Fee would have a field day with them through her camera lens. When he turned onto Camp Street the ordinary homes there appealed to him much more. A few houses sprouted Christmas decorations already but most were clinging on to fall with bright orange pumpkins on the front steps and seasonal wreaths hung on the doors. He’d read in a guide book about the metal wrap-around awnings signifying the corner grocery shops that’d long since gone and got a kick out of spotting one still in place. Once he reached Chartres Street the French Quarter really began and the number of hotels, restaurants and bars increased. He was tempted to stop for coffee but pressed on and walked through Jackson Square. Tom wasn’t in the mood to play tourist and headed straight for the Cafe du Monde.

  Any place selling coffee twenty-four hours a day, 364 days a year got a gold star in his books. They only closed once a year on Christmas Day or if a hurricane got close enough to threaten the city. Tom wasn’t used to walking so far on hard tarmac and sank into a metal chair at one of the street-side tables. Fee wouldn’t be here for half an hour and the overwhelming smell of hot dough frying and sugar tempted him to order a plate of beignets. Tom craved his coffee strong and black this morning and inhaled the first cup in short order. The touch of chicory blunted the edge of the dark roast and he gave silent thanks to the Acadians who’d brought the recipe with them from Nova Scotia. He selected his first beignet and sank his teeth into the soft square doughnut sending a cloud of icing sugar over the table and himself.

  While he ate he studied the square and admired the old cathedral at one end and the ornate buildings around the edges. Tom guessed they’d once been family homes but now were divided into ground-floor shops and restaurants with apartments over them. The residences were all fronted with intricate wrought-iron balconies draped with hanging baskets overflowing with extravagant dark green ferns. There was a distinctly foreign air
about the area and Tom enjoyed the contrast with Pine Ridge.

  Few people were around this early and Tom stretched out his legs, put his hands behind his head and rested his tired eyes.

  ‘Haven’t you got anything better to do, cowboy?’ Fee gave Tom’s arm a quick poke. She’d sneaked out of the house so she wouldn’t have to explain herself to Allain. After last night’s debacle she’d had enough drama.

  Tom’s eyes flew open and he leapt to his feet. He threw his arms around her and pulled her against his warm, solid body. ‘I’ve been so damn worried about you I haven’t slept a wink.’

  ‘I need coffee. Now.’

  ‘Are you okay to eat here? It’s not exactly health food.’

  ‘You can help me out with the beignets and it’d be great if they could make the coffee with skim milk. I’ll have a glass of water too.’

  ‘No problem.’ He gestured to a passing waiter and quickly placed their order. ‘Come over by me. I’ve missed you too much to just stare at you across the table.’

  Fee didn’t object and sat in the chair next to him. The mild weather was perfect for sitting outside and Tom’s fingers stroked her hand in a quiet, soothing rhythm. Out on the street things were starting to come to life as the locals headed off to work and the first tourists began to meander around. A musician was setting up his saxophone next to them and getting ready to play for tips.

  ‘Interesting place, isn’t it? If they didn’t have such god-awful humidity for months on end and get pounded by hurricanes at regular intervals I can think of worse places to live.’

  ‘I take it you don’t plan to move here anytime soon?’ she teased and was rewarded by one of his wide, sexy smiles. ‘Not even if you could bring Pine Ridge with you?’

  He shook his head violently. ‘Nope. Not goin’ to happen.’

  The waiter appeared with a loaded tray and set down their food and drinks before leaving them alone again.