French Quarter (28 page)

Twenty-five

Artistic Fool. Cyrus glanced from the name of the shop to its windows. Exotic clothing, just as advertised. And spangled and feathered masks in Rumors. He hadn’t window-shopped along Royal Street for years, and he wouldn’t be doing so today if he weren’t walking slowly, reluctant to keep his appointment with Sally Lamar.

At Toulouse Street he made a turn toward Bourbon and his steps slowed even more.

He’d agreed to meet Sally in the courtyard at the Hôtel Maison de Ville at three. The prospect of being alone with her concerned him, but he must not allow his personal reticence to stand in the way of helping the woman if he could.

A small hotel, the Maison de Ville was one of the city’s best. Bypassing reception, Cyrus made his way to the brick courtyard, where a tiered fountain cascaded and flowers bloomed among banana trees.

At first he didn’t see Sally. Then he realized with surprise that she was dressed in a long, shapeless black dress with a black scarf over her coppery hair, and dark glasses. She sat on a bench looking directly at him.

When Cyrus waved, she didn’t wave back. And when he walked toward her, she got up and hurried toward an entrance into the hotel.

He wanted to call out for her to stop, but the stiff set of her body, her hurried, almost scrambling walk, made him look around instead and start to follow her. There were no obvious onlookers, no signs of an ominous presence that might have frightened her.

Sally didn’t slow, except to look back and make sure Cyrus was behind her. He followed her all the way to a guest room, where she opened the door and beckoned frantically for him to come in.

Cyrus hesitated, but only for a moment. If he couldn’t deal with one woman, he was less than a man. The thought brought a grimace. He wasn’t less than a man in any respect, though he sometimes wished he were.

Once he was inside, Sally closed and locked the door and put her ear to a panel. She held up a hand for him to be silent, and listened.

A brief glance showed a room where the bed was untouched and there was no sign of luggage. Antique furniture, a glimpse into a bathroom at a marble basin with brass and ceramic fittings, the place was rich and quiet.

“I’ve got to be careful,” Sally said, backing away from the door. She turned to him and took off the glasses. “Please sit down.”

Being there with her couldn’t be considered a good idea. He looked at her pale face and got another surprise. She wore little makeup and seemed younger. He was forcibly reminded of the Sally he took to the high school prom. “I thought we were going to talk in the courtyard.”

“We might be seen.”

“Why would that be a problem?”

Her eyes slid away from his. “Someone might make something of it. They might wonder what I was doing meeting a man who isn’t my husband.”

“We’re old friends, and I’m a priest.”

She laughed self-consciously. “I’m going to sit down anyway.” Two Empire fauteuils with elegant gilt arms and legs flanked a Queen Anne—style demilune table. Sally sat in one of the chairs.

Taking a thin book from the inside pocket of his black jacket, Cyrus sat in the other chair. “I brought this for you. C. S. Lewis. There are plenty more when you’ve finished this one. If you like it.”

“Thank you.” She didn’t pick up the book, didn’t look at it. Rather, she fiddled with her shapeless dress. It was made of some material that was slightly shiny and pleated all over, although the pleats looked as if they’d been wrung out when wet and left to dry but not ironed.

“Sally, a lot of time has passed since you and I were in high school. Yet you said you felt you wanted me to help you spiritually. I’m a stranger.”

“You don’t feel like a stranger to me. I couldn’t try to talk to a stranger. You were always different, kind. It never bothered you that you were on your own so much. It never bothered you that other kids picked on you.”

He smiled. “They tried to pick on me. It isn’t easy to pick on someone who doesn’t react.”

“That was your defense, wasn’t it?” she said, looking sideways at him with her lovely golden-brown eyes. “Passive aggression, that’s what they call it.”

“Lack of interest is what I would have called it. I’m not proud of it now, but they didn’t bother me. I didn’t care about them one way or the other. And there wasn’t much they could do to me physically unless...well. I wasn’t afraid of that either.”

She kept on looking at him. “Because you were always the tallest and the fittest.”

“I was the tallest, and I could run,” he told her, grinning “Good combination for a man of peace in hostile situations.”

Pulling slowly at one end, she removed the scarf and shook her hair. “You were always different from the others. That’s why I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

This wasn’t totally unfamiliar ground. From time to time a lonely or a bored woman decided she was attracted to him. “How long ago did you leave the Church?”

“I was never really there. I went because my parents made me, then because the other Catholic kids I knew went. Ι was confirmed only because Guy Wilder went through the instruction at the same time and I had a thing for him. Ι need something to hang on to, Cyrus. Something strong. I need faith.”

“You’re very honest.”

“You’d see straight through me if I wasn’t. Will you help me?”

He took note of his shoes. They were too old. He’d have to break down and get a new pair. “I already said I’d help you for as long as I’m in New Orleans.”

“There are other things. Other things than the Church. I’m in big trouble, Cyrus, and there’s nobody but you I’d dare to ask for advice.”

“Why me?” he asked. “You don’t really know me that well.”

She rolled in her lips and shook her head. “Why would you understand? You wouldn’t understand a woman loving you the way a woman loves a man, but I love you that way.”

She told him calmly, so calmly he might have missed the impact of her words entirely if he’d been distracted. He wasn’t distracted.

“Don’t look like that,” she told him. “So shocked. I don’t expect you to reciprocate, but I wanted to be honest with you. I haven’t been honest with many people in my life, but I’d like you to think well of me. Loving someone isn’t something you can choose—not usually. I didn’t choose. And when I had a chance to be with you, I blew it by behaving like a tramp.”

“The prom? That was a very long time ago.”

“I’ve never forgotten the shame.”

He rested an elbow on the table and braced a finger and thumb against his temple. “Forget it now. It’s over and it was very unimportant.”

“I’ll read the book.” She picked it up and flipped through the pages. “At least it’s short. It surely looks dull.”

“It isn’t. It’s humorous. A sly pointing of the finger at the frailty of mankind. A way to recognize ourselves and laugh. We shouldn’t be here long, Sally.”

“Wilson wants Celina.”

He blinked and frowned, and didn’t answer at once.

“Did you hear what I said, Cyrus?”

“I heard. Our parents mentioned that he’d like her to be an aide. To have her travel with him—and oversee the PR stuff.”

The book slapped back down on the table. “And she wants that too, doesn’t she?”

Was this what it was all about? Sally felt threatened by Celina and wanted Cyrus to help make sure his sister never got too close to Wilson. “You are wrong, Sally,” he told her, twisting in his chair to face her. “Celina has no interest in politics anymore. When she worked part-time for Wilson, it was because she was in a phase when she wanted to do her bit to help. She believed she could and should help. Then she seemed to get to a point when she lost her optimism. She doesn’t want any part of it anymore. All she wants now is to make sure Errol Petrie’s work continues.” And that she could bring her baby safely into the world and care for it.

“I think there’s more than that,” Sally said stubbornly. She stood up and trailed about the room. Even the shapeless dress couldn’t disguise her lush curves. Cyrus had the disturbing thought that Sally covered from neck to toe was more seductive than Sally hardly covered at all.

Cyrus checked his watch.

“You want to get away from me,” Sally said. “You think I’m bad. Well, I am. But I wanted to be a good wife and I would have been if Wilson had let me. He doesn’t touch me. I know you probably aren’t comfortable discussing these things, but he doesn’t have sex with me anymore. I’m a sensual woman and I need love—I need to be
touched,
Cyrus, to be held. When we were first married, he couldn’t get enough of me. Now he hardly notices I’m there. He’s too busy loving himself and his ambitions. He’d use anyone to get where he wants to be. I can’t help him, so I’m dispensable.”

“He needs you,” Cyrus said. He’d once thought he didn’t like Wilson Lamar. Today he was sure he didn’t. “An intelligent, supportive wife is essential to a politician.”

“And if she happens to look good, that helps too.”

“You look good.”

She stopped moving and turned needy eyes on him. “You think so? Still!”

“I certainly do.”

“Thank you. I think Wilson wishes I were dead.”

Cyrus became quite cold. Again she didn’t speak as if seeking pity. “Men and women communicate on different levels,” he told her. “Women always need intimacy. Men don’t. Men become completely caught up in their other drives, the drives that make them perfect for entrepreneurial pursuits that take a fighter’s instincts. When they’ve got fighting on their mind, they don’t necessarily have loving on their minds at the same time. For women it seems love has to be there all the time or they wilt.”

“Women give sex to get love. Men give love to get sex.”

Her comment discomforted Cyrus. “In a way, yes. Some men, some of the time. And some women, some of the time.”

“You admitted women need love all the time.”

“Some women. I should have qualified that.”

“I need it all the time,” Sally said. She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and Cyrus looked away. “Wilson’s using business as an excuse, you know.”

“An excuse?” When they’d been kids, he’d thought Sally Dufour the prettiest girl around. Night after night he’d rehearsed what he’d say to her when he saw her, then, when he did see her, he forgot every word.

She stood before the windows with their sheer draperies. Little sunlight reached into the courtyard outside, but it still sent a wash through the windows and curtains, and polished Sally’s hair.

“He wants her. Not as an aide, or whatever. That’s an excuse. He wants Celina in his bed.”

“Sally!” He stood up. “You torture yourself with these thoughts, and they aren’t real.”

“They most certainly are. Things have been happening. He and Neville, your dear sot of a father, have been holding private meetings. Afterward Wilson looks mad and Neville looks scared. I know I shouldn’t, but I’ve listened when I could. I can’t hear much, just the occasional word. I hear Celina’s name. And I hear Wilson talking in a threatening way. He’s good at that. I believe he’s telling Neville he’d better help him get Celina.”

“Wilson is married to you,” Cyrus said, but his lungs felt squeezed. Their daddy had shown himself capable of betrayal in the past. “And a married politician doesn’t want the kind of talk that would come his way if he started some sort of relationship with another woman.”

She laughed, actually let her head fall back, and laughed aloud at him. When she brought herself under control, she said, “I cannot believe your innocence,
Father.
You can look at the political arena in this country and say that talk of sexual misconduct gets in the way of a man’s political ambitions? No siree, it does not. And if Wilson manages to get rid of me because of some perceived sin of mine, then he’ll be free to pursue Celina anyway. I believe that’s what he intends to do. He’s wanted her for years.”

Disclosing that Celina and Jack had plans to marry wasn’t his place. In addition, and although his sister had spent a night alone with Jack at his home, there had been no formal announcement.

“You’re not talking because you know something.” No sign of her laughter remained, and a deep line formed between her brows. “That’s it, isn’t it. You know Celina wants Wilson, too. They’re in it together with Neville. Bitsy doesn’t know the full extent of it because she’s too stupid to be trusted. But—”

“No!” He went to her and lowered his head to look into her face. “You’re not even making sense anymore. You’re a very unhappy woman and you’re searching for some way—someone to blame so that you don’t have to look too closely at yourself.”

She crossed her wrists over her breasts. “I’m a very .. . How do you tell a priest you love sex? I’m sexual, Cyrus.”

“Most human beings are sexual.”

“Except you.”

He took a deep, calming breath. “I didn’t say that. And neither do I have to discuss my sexuality with you. I have a calling. That calling demands celibacy of me. It isn’t easy, Sally. Sometimes there are days or weeks when I’m virtually an asexual creature because I’m too busy to think about it. But that doesn’t happen very often, not nearly often enough.”

“Look at this dress,” she said, her head bowed while she spread the skirt. “I put it on partly so I was less likely to be recognized, and partly because I’m still embarrassed—about the night of the stupid prom, a hundred years ago, and because I was all but naked in front of you again at the fund-raiser. People think I’m outrageous. They think I’m hard and manipulative. I’m not. I scare myself. Cyrus, I don’t want to lose Wilson.”

“I don’t think you will.”

“You are a trusting man. I know what I know. He never touches me anymore.” Pain crossed her features. “Sometimes I think he might prefer men.”

“Don’t talk wildly. Not if you’re going to hurt someone to make yourself feel better.”

“It’s just that— Oh, nothing. But I’m right about Celina. Wilson wants to get rid of me and be with her. He’s trying to get damning evidence that I’ve been unfaithful so people will feel sorry for him and forgive him for getting involved with another woman.”

Cyrus regarded her without blinking, and waited.