Forever (6 page)

‘Yes.' Mae looked ghastly. ‘About last night, Eden. You don't think …'

‘You must come round more often, Eden,' Mrs Jefferson was saying. ‘We don't see enough of you. Oh, my, is that the phone again? Please excuse me, girls.'

‘Ruby Red's in half an hour,' Eden said, leaving an auguished Mae with tears in her eyes.

‘Eden …'

The Cadillac door slammed and the engine revved. Mae ran after her but was too late. She halted miserably. She had wanted a quick word with Eden before her courage failed. It would be too late for what she had to say when they were joined by Gussie.

Miserably she reversed her own car out of the Jefferson garage and drove down past City Park and on to their favourite bar on the edge of the French Quarter. It was decorated in the manner of a 1920 speakeasy and though only early, was already crowded, the air full of one topic and one topic alone. Beauregard Clay's untimely death.

Eden motored at her usual high speed back to the Garden District and the Lafayette house that stood way back from the road, screened by palm trees, oaks and lush magnolias.

‘Ahm sorry, Miss Eden, but Miss Gussie told me quite particular …'

Eden didn't wait for the little maid to finish. At least in the Lafayette household there was no Mrs Lafayette to contend with and Gussie's father would be in his high office block negotiating another deal to enhance the Lafayette bank balance. Impatiently she strode past the protesting girl and headed up the wide staircase towards Gussie's bedroom.

‘It's Eden,' she said through the door. ‘Can I come in?'

There was no reply. Eden tried the door. It was locked. She swore beneath her breath.

‘Please open the door, Gussie. I want to talk to you.'

‘I don't want to talk to anyone: not ever again,' a muffled voice said, thick with tears.

Eden leaned against the door and momentarily closed her eyes. ‘I thought he was wonderful too, Gussie. I know how you must be feeling. Mae is waiting for us down at Ruby Red's. We can eat there and talk. It will make it easier. You'll be able to pick up a paper, too. There was nothing in this morning's
Figaro
. I guess the news came too late for their first edition, but the
States Item
will have the full story. Come on, Gussie. Please open the door.'

There was a wait that seemed interminable to Eden. Then, very slowly, the key turned in the lock. It was left to Eden to open the door. When she did so her eyes widened, and she stopped. Gussie was wearing the rose-pink gown of the previous evening. Her hair still streamed down past her waist, but this time in wild disarray and not glossy sleekness. She stared at Eden with lifeless eyes.

‘He's dead,' she whispered piteously. ‘Dead.' Two large tears slid down her face and then Eden circled her in her arms and the dam broke. The tears that shock had refused to release poured down Gussie's face as she sobbed and sobbed.

‘How could he die, Eden? How could he die when I love him so much? I shall die, too. I know I shall!' Her voice rose hysterically.

Eden shook her hard. ‘Stop talking like that, Augusta Lafayette! He's dead and I don't blame you for crying, but it's not as if it's your father or your boyfriend!'

Gussie wrenched herself away from Eden's grasp, her eyes wild. ‘How … dare … you say such things to me!' she said, gasping the words between her racking sobs. ‘He
was
my boyfriend. He was
more
than my boyfriend. He was …' She was choking on her own breath.

‘He was a man you spoke to only half a dozen times in your life. A man you danced with once. A man who barely knew who you were,' Eden said cruelly.

Gussie grasped a bedpost for support. ‘He would have loved me! He would! I shall never be able to love anybody else! I shall stay true to him! I shall never forget him! Never!'

‘You will,' Eden said with a maturity beyond her years. ‘It may seem like the end of the world now but in six months'time you'll barely remember the name of Beau Clay.'

‘I will!' Gussie cried vehemently. ‘I swear I will!'

‘Come on,' Eden said gently. ‘Mae is waiting. Change your clothes and come for a drink and something to eat.'

Gussie's tears flowed with fresh impetus. ‘How can you talk of eating when Beau is dead? Can't you understand what has happened? Can't you understand that I'll never
see
him again? Never hear his voice?'

‘You're overreacting, Gussie. Even if he'd lived, you would only have seen him at a distance or perhaps once a year at your cousin's.'

Gussie threw herself full-length on her bed and beat the pillows with clenched fists.

‘I wouldn't! He would have loved me! Oh, Beau! Beau! I wish I were dead too!'

Eden regarded her despairingly. She had known Gussie would react badly to Beau Clay's death, but had not anticipated distress on such a scale. It was patently obvious that she could not take her for a drink and a hamburger when she was in such a state of emotional hysteria. She was weeping unrestrainedly, seemingly, oblivious of Eden's presence. Reluctantly Eden left the room and closed the door behind her. For once in her life she felt unable to deal with the situation with which she was confronted.

With none of her usual zest she drove sedately to Esplanade Avenue and squeezed into the crowded bar. More newspapers were out, the headlines screaming Beau's name. As she made her way through the mass of bodies she heard the same words repeated on every side.

‘A tragedy …'

‘Such a waste …'

‘Dead, at twenty-seven …'

‘… speed must have been suicidal …'

She sat beside Mae and sipped the glass of wine that was pushed across to her.

‘Where's Gussie?'

Eden nursed the wine glass. ‘Face-down on her bed and crying as if her heart is broken.'

‘It probably is,' Mae said compassionately. ‘She was head-over-heels in love with him.'

‘She barely knew him,' Eden repeated. ‘None of us did. He was a film-star figure. Someone whose picture was always in the paper. Someone whose private life was led publicly. You may as well say the women who swooned when Valentino died were in love with
him
. They weren't. They were in love with the
idea
of being in love with him.'

A hint of colour returned to Mae's cheeks.

‘I'm glad you said that, Eden. It makes me feel better. I was getting so worried; thinking all kinds of stupid things. Of course Gussie will get over it in time. It's a bit of a shock, that's all.' She managed a tremulous smile and looked towards the door.

‘The Shreve boys have just come in. They look dreadful. Were they close to Beau?'

‘Not that I know of,' Eden replied drily. ‘But I imagine they modelled themselves on him.'

‘There's Bradley. He's the only person I've seen so far who doesn't look to be in shock.'

A smile tinged Eden's mouth. It would take a lot to shock Bradley Hampton.

He had seen them and was approaching their table. Mae shrank back and tried to make herself invisible. Their date had been a disaster. His only interest had been in talking about Gussie.

‘Isn't it dreadful?' Eden said as he crossed to their table. ‘Have you heard some of the rumours?'

Bradley wasn't remotely interested in rumours.

‘Where's Gussie?' he asked with apparent indifference.

Despite herself, Eden felt her nerves begin to throb. There was something overpoweringly masculine about Bradley Hampton. If it wasn't for the fact that she was in love with Dean …

‘At home, grief-stricken at Beau Clay's death,' Mae said timidly, near to tears. ‘It's my belief she'll waste away and die, just like that Frenchwoman in the book we had to read for English Lit.'

Bradley stared down at Eden grim-faced. ‘Is that true?'

Eden forced a laugh.

‘No. She's a little upset, that's all. She knew Beau slightly. He was a close friend of her cousin Tina's at one time.'

Bradley swung his jacket negligently over one shoulder. He knew just what kind of a friend Beau Clay had been to the provocative Tina Lafayette. He wondered if Gussie did, and doubted it. He took a sip of his beer, turned as his name was called and drifted away.

‘He really does care about Gussie, doesn't he?' Mae said enviously. ‘I don't understand why she won't date him. He's so handsome, and so …' She struggled inadequately for the right word.

‘Male,' Eden said obligingly. Bradley Hampton's charms were not lost on her either. ‘Restrain your thoughts, Mae. Here comes Austin.'

‘What are you girls drinking? White wine?' Austin asked, blinking at them through his thick glasses. ‘Let me get another bottle. Nice to see you, Eden. Where have you been lately?'

Eden smiled. ‘Around,' she said, wondering when Austin would ask Mae to marry him and when Mae would accept.

‘Have you seen the headlines in the paper?' Mae asked as he sat down. ‘Do you think he was drunk, Austin? He must have been, mustn't he? I mean, he could drive a car like no one else I've ever seen. How
could
it have happened? He must have been near out of his mind not to have seen a tree that size.'

Eden flicked open a packet of cigarettes and resigned herself to the fact that she was going to hear a lot of talk about the way Beau Clay had met his death. She looked at her wristwatch. It had been three hours since she had left the Lafayette home. Perhaps Gussie would be grateful if she called round now. Excusing herself and leaving Mae in Austin's company, she left the bar.

When she turned into the Lafayette driveway she halted and whistled expressively. Bradley Hampton's distinctive blue Thunderbird was parked conspicuously in front of the porticoed entrance.

So … Mae was right. Bradley Hampton really
did
care about Gussie. And, on hearing of Gussie's distress, he had driven straight over. It showed a brand of courage Eden admired. She put the Cadillac into reverse and backed out into the Avenue. It seemed as if Gussie was getting all the comfort she needed.

‘I wish you'd go away,' Augusta said, her eyes blue hollows in a fragilely pale face. ‘I want to be left alone.'

She was sitting on the porch swing. The rose-pink dress had been discarded. Her father would be home soon. Dying of love though she was, she could not allow her father to know. It would cause too many questions, be an invasion of her grief. Instead of her habitual jeans and T-shirt, she wore a white silk dress with a slim, gold rouleau belt. Her hair had been carelessly caught in a ribbon in the nape of her neck. Her face was devoid of make-up. Bradley thought she had never looked so beautiful.

‘I thought you might like dinner tonight; at Agostino's.'

A flicker of interest pierced Gussie's grief. She wondered how Bradley Hampton knew she had a penchant for Sicilian food. She'd cried for so long that she couldn't remember when last she'd eaten. Agostino's did a marvellous
Spiedini Al serri-Rotoli
. For a moment she was tempted and then she remembered Beau and that he was dead and that she was going to devote the rest of her life to grief.

Tears hovered in her violet-dark eyes. ‘If you don't leave I'll call Louis and have him remove you.'

A brief smile touched Bradley's mouth. ‘I think he would find that a little difficult, Gussie. I don't leave anywhere unless it's of my own free will.'

Gussie blinked back her tears and looked across at him. She had never realized before how tall he was, or how broad-shouldered. Nearly as broad-shouldered as Beau.

‘You've overstayed your welcome, Bradley Hampton,' she said, springing to her feet, her eyes filling with tears. ‘I don't want you to come here again. I don't want anyone to come and see me. Not ever again.' Covering her face with her hands, she rushed into the house and the sound of her sobs could be heard fading into the distance until at last her bedroom door silenced them.

Bradley remained on the porch, a savagery on his usually good-humoured features that would have stunned his friends and shocked even Gussie. Damn Beau Clay. He was exercising as powerful an effect on Gussie dead as he had when he had been alive. His eyes blazed with fierce determination. He would take no notice of Gussie's request. He would come back tomorrow and the next day and the next. He would come back until she had forgotten her dream of Beau Clay, and until she fell in love with flesh and blood reality: until she fell in love with him.

In her room, above her sobs, Gussie heard his car door slam and the engine rev. She ran to the window and peeped surreptitiously outside. It was strange that she had never noticed before how handsome Bradley Hampton was. But not as handsome as Beau. No one was as handsome as Beau had been.

She sank onto the bed and began to sob bitterly, remembering Beau's devastating down-slanting smile, the way he had held her at the New Year party, the feel of his body close to hers.

At her request, the maid told her father that she had a headache and did not want to be disturbed. As the evening drew on into night she gave herself up to grief for Beau Clay, but occasionally, insidiously, his lean dark face merged with that of Bradley Hampton's. Angry whenever it did so, she buried her face in her pillows, reminding herself that she was inconsolable. That the rest of her life was to be spent in grief for Beau.

Beauregard Clay was buried by his grieving father and a multitude of friends three days later. In death he had taken on a stature that he had never enjoyed in life. His father would have liked the ceremony to have a semblance of privacy but that proved to be impossible. The staid and respectable felt it their duty to be present, and Beau's contemporaries came from as far away as La Jolla and New York. Not until they actually saw the lifeless body being laid to rest in the family mausoleum would they be able to believe that Beau was really dead. Young women the Judge had never set eyes on before wept uncontrollably as the cortège made its way to the St Louis Cemetery in Basin Street, where the Clay mausoleum had stood, receiving its family members, since the city had been founded on the swamp beneath its streets. Judge Clay had no intention of burying his wayward son elsewhere.