Forever (20 page)

‘Beau
! …'

There came, unmistakeable, the sound of footsteps on gravel.

‘What the …' Eden said, her eyes flickering open, widening instantaneously.
‘No, Gussie!'
she yelled, leaping to her feet.
‘No! No!'

Gussie smiled at her, raising a finger to her lips to silence her.

‘Goodbye, Eden.'

‘No!'
Eden threw herself forward but Gussie was beyond her grasp, moving out onto the landing as the heavy knocker slammed at the door.

‘Oh God!' Mae screamed, sitting up wild-eyed. ‘What is it?
Oh Gussie!
GUSSIE!'

The knocker fell again.

‘I'm coming, Beau!'
Gussie called, her skirts in her hands as she ran down the broad curving sweep of the staircase.
‘I'm coming, sweet love!'

Eden leaned on the banisters, panting. Gussie was nearly at the foot of the stairs. Through the glass panels of the door a dark silhouetted figure stood, waiting for admittance. The knocker fell again, impatient; insistent.

‘I'm coming …'

With superhuman strength Eden wrenched the enormous, gilt-framed mirror from the wall behind her and flung it with all her might over the banisters, sending it crashing between Gussie's running figure and the terrifying silhouette of Beau Clay.

Gussie's shriek was ear-piercing. Glass and wood splintered and flew. For a mind-searing second Eden thought she had killed her. Mae screamed and continued to scream as Eden stumbled and fell down the crimson-carpeted stairs to where Gussie lay senseless on the marble floor.

‘Gussie!' she cried urgently, feeling her pulse, sobbing with relief at the light, rapid beat beneath her fingertips.
‘Gussie!'

Gussie's lids moved fractionally. Eden swung her head towards the door, drenched in the cold perspiration of fear.

Through the glass panels the moon shone clearly: not even a shadow darkening its path.

‘He's gone, Mae,' she said shakily. ‘Come down and help me with Gussie.'

Emerging from the door of the bedroom and walking down the dark staircase was the bravest thing Mae had ever done. ‘What are we going to do?' she whispered shakily as Eden slapped Gussie's cheeks. ‘Dear God, Eden. What are we going to
do
?'

Gussie's eyes flickered open.

‘He's gone,' Eden said, her voice breaking.

‘I know.' She looked up at them dazedly. ‘He's gone to Houston for two days. He wanted me to go with him, but I couldn't. Why are you looking at me so strangely, Eden?'

‘Let's get her to bed,' Eden said, sliding her arm round Gussie's waist.

‘Why couldn't I go with him? I can't remember.'

‘One step at a time,' Eden said as they began to mount the stairs.

‘My head feels so strange, Eden. As if I'd been flying.'

‘We're nearly there.'

Gussie halted, staring down at her wedding gown, realization dawning, horror engulfing her. ‘Oh, no! Oh dear God! No!
No!
'

Eden fumbled for the light switch in Gussie's bedroom, plunging them into brilliance. Gussie's eyes were dilated, her face contorted with fear, her breath coming in harsh gasps. ‘He's coming for me! He'll find me wherever I am!'

Eden grasped her arms, shaking her viciously. ‘It's
over
, Gussie. For tonight it's over.'

Gussie sank on to the bed, hugging her arms, rocking backwards and forwards. ‘He wants me, Eden. He wants me forever!'

With a trembling hand Eden pushed the hair away from her face and sat on the dressing-table stool. Mae sat on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chin, crying quietly.

‘Why do you go to him?' Eden asked unsteadily, wishing she had the strength to pour a drink; light a cigarette; anything.

‘He calls me.' The rocking ceased. She sat very still. ‘He calls me and I feel as if I'm drowning in his voice. I can see only him. Only Beau. Other people cease to matter. Even Bradley …'

‘Stop it, Gussie!' Eden leapt to her feet and slapped Gussie's face hard.

Gussie stared up at her in shocked amazement.

‘You're letting him hypnotize you!'

‘He wants me,' Gussie said simply. ‘He won't rest until we're together.'

Eden's eyes sparked flames. ‘He's not going to have you, Gussie! To go to him means going to your death!'

Gussie moaned, rubbing her goose-fleshed arms. ‘What am I to do, Eden? He's waiting for me. Every night he comes to St Michel, waiting to be let in.' Her voice rose dazedly. ‘Waiting to take me …'

‘Let's get you out of that dress,' Eden said authoritatively, stemming the tide of hysteria. ‘Mae, stop crying and help me.'

Unresisting, Gussie allowed them to remove the wedding dress and slip a negligé over her head and shoulders.

‘We need coffee,' Eden said, ‘strong and black.'

They looked at each other, aware that no one was on call: that the house was bereft of staff. Eden's eyes rested on Mae.

Mae shook her head vigorously. ‘I'm not going down to make coffee. I'd rather die first.'

Eden sighed. ‘Will you be all right, Gussie, if I leave you with Mae?'

Gussie nodded.

Eden took a deep breath and then, singing ‘Onward Christian Soldiers'gustily at the top of her voice, made her way down the stairs and through the house to the kitchen, switching on every light she passed.

‘I never want to spend another night like that as long as I live,' Mae said next morning as they huddled over Bloody Marys in the sun-filled kitchen.

Eden drained her glass. ‘This is a habit I'll have to break. Vodka and tomato juice at seven in the morning is too much for even me.'

Gussie said only, ‘I'm scared. Oh God, how I'm scared.'

‘You and me, too,' Eden said, rising to her feet. ‘Come on. Let's go.'

They drove out of the city on Highway 10, Eden at the wheel, heading south towards the Cajun country where long ago Mae's ancestors had settled.

‘I hate it,' Mae said. ‘It's all alligators, swamps and marshes. My mother always said my great-grandfather must have had a dreadful secret to hide, living so far away from civilization.'

‘Your grandmother can't hate it,' Eden said, glancing uneasily at Gussie who had once more lapsed into silence. ‘What do you think, Gussie?'

‘About what?' Gussie's eyes held the bleak expression that Eden had learned to be wary of.

‘Mae's grandmother. She can't hate living where she does or she wouldn't live there, would she?'

‘No.' Gussie's hands twisted in her lap. Leila Jefferson. Would she be able to free her from Beau? She shivered. If Leila Jefferson could not help her, no one could.

She blinked back the tears that filled her eyes. Why had she done it? Why had she been so foolish and naïve? Beau Clay had never been destined for her. He had been destined for someone as reckless, as heedless as himself. She didn't want an exciting, fast-living lover who didn't give a flying damn about anyone or anything. She wanted tenderness: strength; stability. A home of her own, and babies. She clenched her hands tightly together. She wanted things Beau Clay could never have given her. She wanted Bradley.

‘Are you O.K., Gussie?' Mae asked nervously.

‘Yes. Fine,' Gussie lied.

If only she hadn't been so headstrong; so impatient for love. If only she had waited a little longer … With anguished eyes she stared unseeingly at the signpost for Crowley. Beau would eventually have been forgotten. Bradley would have succeeded him in her thoughts and her dreams. Bradley, who loved her of his own volition. Who needed no Midsummer's Eve ceremony to be awakened to her existence. Dear God. Panic welled up in her. Instead of waiting for love to find her, she had demanded it and now it was destroying her. Beau Clay had never been refused anything in life, and he was not going to be refused anything in death. She was his. Just as she had wanted to be. His, forever and forever and forever.

She began to cry softly and Mae leaned forward from the back seat and laid a hand compassionately on her shoulder.

‘Don't cry, Gussie. It'll be all right. Just see if it won't.'

‘Is that the turn-off for Jennings?' Eden asked, blinking against the sun.

‘Yes,' Mae replied unhappily. ‘We need to take Exit 27. It'll be coming up in another few minutes.'

‘I'm not surprised your mother hardly visits,' Eden said as she turned off the highway and headed south towards the Gulf. ‘It isn't exactly the bright lights, is it?'

‘It gets worse,' Mae said, leaning forward. ‘We branch off here.'

‘That's barely a road.'

‘It's the one we take.'

Raucous birds flew out of the undergrowth, screeching at their intrusion. Trees hemmed them in, draped in trailing fronds of Spanish moss, the ground gleaming slickly at their roots.

‘Swamp,' Mae said unnecessarily. ‘Left again.'

‘For goodness'sake, Mae. No wonder I couldn't find your damned plantation on my own. Doesn't anyone believe in road signs around here?'

‘Left again,' Mae said mercilessly. ‘We're nearly there.'

The house had been glorious once, surrounded on all sides by gleaming white columns and balconies. Now the paint was peeling and flaked and tropical vegetation had surged over what had once been lawns. Wild roses, lilies, lavender and wild jasmine invaded the open windows of the lower rooms, their perfume lingering in the hot, airless, heat.

‘No one
makes
her live here,' Mae said helplessly, as they climbed out of the Cadillac. ‘You can see why my mother doesn't encourage visitors.'

There was a sudden start, quickly suppressed, in the eyes of the elderly maid who opened the door to them.

‘Is Grandma home, Louella?'

Dark, unfathomable eyes flicked from Mae's tear-stained face, over Eden; and rested on Gussie.

‘She's out on the back gallery.'

The spicy aroma of chicken simmering with garlic and herbs and red peppers filled the air. Cicadas sang in the dense surrounding foliage as old eyes met young. The shadows beneath Gussie's eyes were dark, like bruises, the expression tormented. The old Black woman nodded her head imperceptibly. To Eden it seemed as if they had been expected. As if the stooped, wrinkled figure before them knew Augusta's identity without being told. A tremor ran down her spine. Was the woman before them a
voodooienne
? If so, surely that was why they had come? She licked her lips and tried to control her fear.

‘It's hot,' Louella said. ‘You'll be needing drinks. I'll bring them out to you.' The voice was flat. Expressionless. Uncomfortably they moved past her and into shadow inside.

The house possessed a genteel air of decay. The polished floors gleamed dully through a fine layer of dust, the scatter rugs on their surface faded and worn. There was no modern air-conditioning. Old-fashioned fans creaked and whirred, merging with the never-ending sounds from the encroaching forest and swamps. Insects buzzed incessantly. A small lizard ran across the floor and disappeared down a crack in the boards.

The furniture was sturdy: mahogany and oak; furniture that had survived from colonial days. The damask and velvet upholstery, once so rich and glowing, now barely showed any colour but sun-faded beige. There were books on the wall shelves, flowers on the tables. The waxy white of magnolias, the scarlet of bougainvillea, the flowering pink tentacles of Queen's Wreath. All the flowers of the encroaching wilderness had been brought inside so that the rooms seemed bottled in green-tinted light. Round an open window mosquito nets hung limply and a luxuriant creeper penetrated beneath the netting and into the room, trailing over the back of a chair so that at first glance it was impossible to see where the room ended and the undergrowth began.

There was an air of shabby comfort that Gussie had not expected. Perhaps Leila Jefferson was not as unreasonable as she seemed in not living dutifully with her son and daughter-in-law.

The heat rose in waves. Gussie could feel her blouse sticking to her skin, damp with perspiration. A dog began to bark frenziedly at their approach, and Eden flinched. As they neared the door leading on to the vast gallery the dog ran towards them, glassy-eyed and angry.

‘It's me, Houla,' Mae said reassuringly. ‘Here boy, friend.'

The Catahoula Leopard dog growled warningly as Mae stretched out her hand and allowed it to sniff.

‘Good boy. Good dog.' Mae's hand moved tentatively to the top of its spotted head. The growling stopped and its tail began to move suspiciously.

‘He's all right,' said Mae to a nervous Eden and Gussie. ‘Just making sure of us, that's all. He's the best hunting dog there is.'

Gussie gave him a wide berth and they stepped out on to the back gallery.

‘Heaven help us, what a surprise!' the old lady in the rocking chair exclaimed, rising to her feet, her eyes bright, a delighted smile on her face as she held her arms out to her granddaughter.

‘Hi, Gran.' Mae ran towards her, hugged her, and at the bodily contact her hysteria could be controlled no longer. Her voice broke and she began to cry.

Leila Jefferson regarded her in total astonishment. ‘Mae. What is it? Is there trouble at home? Is anyone ill …?'

‘No, Gran. No. Everyone's just fine in town,' Mae said, struggling to control her breathing, to speak rationally. ‘But there is trouble. The most awful, unimaginable trouble …'

Unsteadily Leila Jefferson sank back down into her rocking chair, her hands still grasping Mae's.

‘Is it that husband of yours, child? He seemed like a real fine boy.'

Mae shook her head. ‘No, Gran. It's not Austin. It's … It's Gussie.'

Eden and Gussie had halted at the glass-panelled doorway as Mae had greeted her grandmother. Eden was surprised at how sane and normal the figure of New Orleans'voodoo gossip looked in the flesh. Her hair was still dark; still thick. She wore it as she had done as a girl, piled high on her head, long jet earrings hanging against a jawline that was no longer firm but still held traces of beauty. Leila Jefferson, Eden thought, must have been a stunner in her youth. No wonder she was still remembered and talked about.