Authors: Erica Spindler
"I want you to leave Veronique alone," her mother snapped.
"I'm only making conversation," her grandfather responded mildly. "It's what civilized people do."
"There's nothing civilized about what you're doing." Marie cast a quick glance toward the doorway, then turned back to him. "Don't bother lying to me. I know exactly what you're up to—you're trying to drive a wedge between Veronique and Brandon."
Jerome patted his vest pockets. "It seems I've left my cigarettes in the living room. Excuse me."
Flushing, Marie grabbed his arm. "Don't you dare ignore me! I want to know why."
He looked at her for a moment, then sighed. "All right. Your daughter has done nothing but disgrace this family since the day she was born."
"What's so disgraceful about being in love?" Marie asked, lowering her voice. "She's in love with him, you know."
"Love?" he scoffed. "You're as foolish now as you were at nineteen. Love is nothing to compared to family... Brandon knows that as well as I. This infatuation your daughter has will end in nothing other than more disgrace. And after last night—"
"Stop it!" Marie cried. "You know nothing about love! You know nothing about what one will give up or endure for another person. You've never loved anyone but yourself or anything but your own power!"
"That's enough! You should've done what I asked. A good daughter would have gone away... we have family in France who would have taken care of—"
"Gone away and come back nine months later with no baby," she mocked, her face white with rage. "Didn't you also suggest an abortion?"
"And if you'd done what I'd asked, the family would have been spared
years
of embarrassment. Of course, if you'd acted with the class and breeding of a Delacroix, you never would have become involved with that trash in the first place."
"Get out!" She pointed toward the door, her hand trembling so badly her entire arm shook. "You're in my house, and I won't allow you speak to me this way. Now, get out!"
Veronique stepped into the doorway, her head spinning with what she'd overheard. So her grandfather wished she'd never been born. His dislike had always been obvious, but to hear the truth so plainly was like a knife in her chest.
But what of her mother? Veronique gazed at her mother's white, pained face, and her eyes filled with tears. Until today, she hadn't realized just how much her mother
did
love her, how much she'd given up to have her. Veronique squared her shoulders and stepped forward. "You heard her," she said quietly. "Get out."
Veronique thought she saw surprise flicker in his eyes when he saw her. That look was instantaneously replaced by nonchalance. He shrugged, then collected his hat and jacket. "You'll regret this, Marie Elizabeth," he said, then added, "Remember, family is everything." A moment later he was gone.
"Maman, are you all right?" Veronique crossed to the other woman and put an arm around her. Her mother's shoulders quaked under her arm, and Veronique hugged her more tightly.
"I wish you hadn't heard that," Marie murmured, her words as unsteady as her body.
Pain arced through Veronique again as her grandfather's words filled her head. She pushed them determinedly away. "It's okay."
"No... no, it's not." Marie's voice strengthened as she spoke. "No child should hear that they weren't wanted."
"But
you
wanted me," Veronique said softly. "Listening to Grandfather made me realize how much."
Marie stepped out of the comforting circle of Veronique's arm. "Outwardly you've always been so brave... so sure of yourself. But deep down I know how you hurt. I feel responsible."
"You've had nothing to do with other people's cruelty, Maman."
Marie laughed; the sound filled with remorse. "If I'd been a braver woman, a stronger woman, I would have taken you and left New Orleans." She lowered her eyes. "But I'm not brave, Veronique. I'm not strong. I've only stood up to your grandfather twice in my life, and today was one of those times." She lifted her eyes. "Earlier, you looked so happy, but now..." She reached up and touched Veronique's cheek. "Now you're pale and look sad. It's all my fault."
"No," Veronique murmured, "not your fault. Earlier I was just being foolish."
"Don't say that. You weren't being foolish." Marie grabbed Veronique's hands and took a deep breath. "I should have done this long ago. It's time to tell you about your father."
Veronique's breath caught and hope clutched at her heart. She'd waited twenty-eight years to hear her mother say those words and... and now she was almost afraid to learn the truth. "Why?" she asked hoarsely. "Why now?"
Marie looked away. "Because I want you to know about love... you've known so little of it in your life. Because now you have a chance at happiness. Sometimes you only get one, and I don't want you to give up on it." Her voice cracked, and she crossed to the fountain and stared down at the sparkling water.
When she spoke again, her tone was even but laced with regret. "I met your father in the spring. The azaleas were in full bloom; the breeze off the Gulf was warm and sweet. I was on my way to afternoon Mass, hurrying because I'd lingered too long in a dress shop; he was feeding the pigeons the last of his sandwich. I ran into him and dropped my packages. When he stooped to help me retrieve them, our hands touched, our eyes met. I'll never forget the sensation—it was like falling off a cliff, but instead of speeding toward the earth, I floated."
Even now, thirty years later, she blushed at the memory. "I never made it to Mass—we spent that afternoon together and every other minute we could."
Marie turned away from the window to face Veronique. "There weren't as many minutes as we would have liked... we had to hide our love from my parents. You see, he had nothing, and..." Her words trailed off, and she began wringing her hands.
"And what, Maman?" Veronique urged.
"His name was David Goldstein," she finished quietly.
Veronique stared blankly at her mother a moment, then comprehension dawned. "He was Jewish," she murmured, sinking onto the couch. There was a whole culture, rich with tradition, that she hadn't even known belonged to her.
"I didn't care," Marie rushed on. "But I knew Father would be furious. David wanted to go to him, try to reason with him, but I begged him not to." Her eyes filled with tears. "Right after I found out I was pregnant, Father discovered our secret."
"How?" Veronique felt her mother's pain and ached for her.
"I made the mistake of confiding in my best friend. She told her mother." Marie's shoulders drooped. "It was the beginning of the end."
"Oh, Maman..."
Marie's smile was bittersweet as she recounted the past. "We had such fun together. Your father was full of energy and ideas. He made me laugh. And he was a gentle man, kind and good." She shook her head. "Sometimes when I allow myself to remember... I still can't believe he deserted me." Tears sprang to Veronique's eyes; she blinked them away. "What happened?"
"I don't know. I've always suspected your grandfather had something to do with David leaving, but... I never had the courage to confront him." She laughed, the sound was brittle and filled with self-loathing. "But maybe that's just my fantasy, my way of lessening the pain."
"But maybe not," Veronique muttered. Knowing the depth of her grandfather's hatred of anyone unlike himself, she could imagine his rage at his daughter's involvement. She could also imagine the lengths he would have gone to break up the young lovers.
Marie continued as if Veronique hadn't spoken. "When I told David I was pregnant, he was delighted. He wanted us to marry. He said we'd run away if my father gave us trouble. He said he loved me and would move heaven and earth for us to be together. That was the last time I saw him. We had a date to meet at the Cathedral. He never—" The tears that threatened spilled over, rolling slowly down her cheeks.
"Oh, Maman." Veronique stood and crossed to her mother. She captured her hands and squeezed them. "I'm sorry to cause you more pain, but I..." Veronique drew in a deep breath. "What did he look like, Maman? What business was he in? Was he athletic? Artistic? I'm sorry, but I've waited so long to know."
"It's your right. I should have told you long ago... but I couldn't bring myself to... speak of him." Marie's lips thinned with determination. "Your father looked like you—tall and slim, moody brown eyes and thick dark hair. He was artistic—as you are—but not particularly athletic. He was Blake Rhodes's partner and—"
"What?" Veronique interrupted, surprised. "He was a partner in Rhodes?"
"Mmm. It was all very hush-hush. I don't think anyone knew but me and the store's attorney."
Veronique's brows drew together. "But why was it a secret? That doesn't make any sense."
Marie shrugged. "The store was David's idea; Blake put up all the capital. They made some agreement... something about using the Rhodes name exclusively."
"That's it? You don't know any other details?"
"No. Your father and I had precious few hours together, and when we did... we didn't talk about business."
Veronique understood. She could picture the young lovers, heads bent together, laughing about their future, whispering their love and their plans. "What happened?"
"When David disappeared, I went to see Blake. He said David had come to him and asked if he would buy his half of the business. He said David had seemed desperate and... Blake was very kind." Marie's voice broke, and she pressed her face into her hands.
Feeling her mother's despair and humiliation, Veronique wrapped her arms around her and held her while she wept.
* * *
The sun made its final dip in the west. Veronique didn't bother to turn on the lights in her apartment, but instead sat staring into the rapidly darkening room. It had been hours since she'd left her mother's house. And in that time she'd gone over what her mother had told her, again and again.
The more she'd thought about it, the more something didn't add up. She plucked at the sleeve of her red sweater. Brandon had told her his father started Rhodes, that he'd originated it. Why wouldn't Brandon, the store's future successor, know about the partnership? It didn't make sense.
Unless... something was crooked.
Veronique rubbed her temples. She had instincts about people, about situations, and this smelled dirty. But what could she do? Blake Rhodes was dead, her father was God only knew where and... Her eyes narrowed. What had mother said? Only she, the principals and the store's attorney knew the truth.
That was it! All she had to do was talk to the lawyer. Who was he? She'd seen him a half dozen times at the store and had even been introduced once. She searched her memory.
Setton... Samuels... what was his name? With a small shake of her head, she jumped up and raced for the phone book.
Samuel, Scott... Sebastian. That was it! Without pausing for thought, she tore the page from the book, grabbed her purse and headed downstairs to hail a cab.
Twenty-five minutes later, the cab pulled up in front of a luxurious Tudor-style home in Old Metairie. She told the cabbie to wait until she was inside the house, then took a deep breath. She'd bluffed her way into pool halls underage, out of speeding tickets and into parties without invitations. Tonight she was going to try to bluff out the truth. Squaring her shoulders, she headed up the walk.
By the time Sebastian opened the door, Veronique had psyched herself up for the confrontation. Looking furious, she pushed past him into the house, then turned to face him. "I know all about it! You had better be a good lawyer, because—"
"Who are you? I'm calling the police."
Veronique waved toward the phone. "Go right ahead, Mr. Sebastian. When they get here, I'll explain all about Blake Rhodes and David Goldstein and your part in it."
The man stopped and turned. His eyes met hers, recognition flickered in them. "You're—"
"Veronique Delacroix," she inserted smoothly, lifting her chin in challenge.
"My God—"
"Bingo. Still want to call the police?"
"Why don't we go into my office?"
Veronique inclined her head, then followed him. It seemed she'd pushed the right buttons. It also seemed she'd been right—something here stunk.
The lawyer closed the door behind them, then turned toward her. "I don't know what you've heard, but—"
"I've heard it all, Mr. Sebastian." She placed her fists on her hips. "I wonder what the state bar association will think of my little story? And I wonder what your other clients will think when it hits the paper? Interesting to speculate, isn't it?"
The man paled. "Look, Blake and Goldstein's relationship ended years before I became the store's attorney. Apparently my predecessor was in on it, but—"
"How convenient," she interrupted, sarcastically. "You expect me to believe you had nothing to do with any of if?"
"Of course. Why should I lie?"
Veronique's eyes flicked over him. "You have plenty of reasons to lie." When he didn't respond, she took a stab in the dark. "Knowing that a man cheated his partner sounds like a pretty good 'why.'" Veronique knew she'd hit a nerve when the gleam of sweat appeared on his brow.