Forever (7 page)

The Judge's face was haggard, deep lines etched from nose to mouth and furrowing his brow as his elder, remaining son, walked at his side. The storm clouds that could blow up with such unexpectedness and ferocity over the city, threatened in the distance.

When the cortège reached the cemetery Beau's out-of-state friends eyed their surroundings uneasily. The usual swift, neat cremations amongst rose-laid gardens had been no preparation for Beau's burial. Monolithic tombs, like tenements, towered above the ground. The dead seemed literally to press in on them on either side and more than one New Yorker wished he hadn't made the trip.

Mae Jefferson stood beside her mother, shivering despite the steaming heat of the afternoon. She had not wanted to come but her mother had been adamant. Respect had to be shown. Besides, the Judge would notice which families had attended and which had not, and he was a very influential man.

Mae looked away as the priest officiated beside the ebony casket lying on the catafalque, not listening as the well-known words rolled sonorously over the bowed heads around her. In the distance she could see the tomb of Etienne de Bore, the first planter to make sugar a commercial enterprise in the South. And somewhere, unknown and unmarked, lay the rotting bones of Marie Laveau, infamous Voodoo Queen of Old New Orleans.

Her grandmother had told her many tales of Marie Laveau and her supernatural powers: tales her mother discounted and refused to listen to. But Mae knew voodoo was real. Her grandmother had told her so.

There was a distant rumble of thunder and a few of the bowed heads turned, eyeing the sky and calculating how long it would be before they were caught in a torrential downpour. Tina Lafayette's sobs were heard above the noise. Charles Lafayette stood apart from her, disassociating himself from a spectacle that could only give rise to gossip. There was no sign of Gussie.

Mae closed her eyes and dug her nails into her palms. She hated her mother for forcing her to endure such an ordeal. Somewhere in the vast crowd she had seen Eden's dark head and wished that Eden were standing next to her.

‘… ashes to ashes, dust to dust …'

The macabre, swathed corpse was ceremoniously lifted from the coffin and carried into the giant mausoleum. There it was placed on a stone shelf. The hot, dry air would accomplish the rest.

The sun-tanned blonde from La Jolla screamed and was hastily shushed by those around her. New Orleans burials were unlike any other. There was no room, no suitable burying land, for the luxury of coffins.

The mausoleum was sealed, the iron gates swung into place. Judge Clay looked momentarily disorientated and then walked with pathetic dignity back through the overgrown churchyard and towards his limousine, the mourners parting silently as they made way for him.

In the Lafayette mansion Gussie lay prostrate on the bed she had barely left since hearing of Beau's death. Gold velvet drapes were drawn across the window, plunging the room into dark shadow. In her imagination she followed the funeral procession every step of the way, from the elegant Clay home to Beau's final resting place amongst his ancestors. She knew that Eden was going with her mother; that Mae was going with hers. She knew that her father, out of respect for Judge Clay, was also attending. She, too, could have been there, but she could not have borne to be only one of a nameless crowd. To have her tears regarded on the same level as Mae's. She wanted to wear a black dress and black silk stockings and a heavy veil over her face. She wanted people to be in awe of her grief: to feel their compassion for her suffering. To realize that she was the only person Beau Clay would have ever loved. She wanted to place a single rose on the lifeless body, to cry in private beside him.

She could not do so and so she did not go. She wept alone, convinced that joy would never enter her heart again.

‘I'm taking Gussie to Al Hirt's Club on Bourbon Street later this evening, sir,' Bradley said with the casual confidence that was an integral part of his personality. ‘The show doesn't start till ten-thirty so it will be pretty late before I bring her home. I just wanted you to know I'll take good care of her.'

‘I see.' Charles Lafayette regarded Bradley Hampton over the broad expanse of his desk in the book-lined study. The jazz haunts of the city held no charm for him. He preferred the New Orleans Symphony Orchestra but despite taking Gussie several times, he had not been able to impart his love of classical music to his daughter. Normally, he would not have countenanced her going out to a jazz club until the early hours. However, Bradley Hampton wasn't just any young man. He was an extremely personable one, and if he could lift Gussie from the strange depression from which she had been suffering this last month, Charles would be more than grateful to him.

Gussie's father rose from behind his desk and held out his hand to Bradley. ‘Just make sure you keep your word, my boy.'

Bradley clasped the hand firmly and grinned. Charles Lafayette would have his hide if he didn't keep his word. Besides, when it came to sex, it could be had easily and often any time of the day or night. He wanted something a little more from Gussie. Just what, he wasn't yet prepared to admit, even to himself. Early marriage had never been part of his schemes for the future. But then neither had Gussie.

‘How dare you speak to my father behind my back!' Gussie hissed. ‘I wouldn't go to Al Hirt's with you if you were the last man on earth!'

‘I'll pick you up at nine o'clock,' Bradley said calmly.

Gussie stamped a foot. ‘Are you deaf, Bradley Hampton? I said I wouldn't …'

He covered the distance between them in one stride and grasped her wrist so hard that she cried out in pain.

‘I heard you, Gussie,' he said, and something hot flickered at the back of his eyes. ‘Be ready when I come, and put some lipstick on. I like my girls to look special, not like colourless rabbits.'

Gussie gasped and fell back against the wall. He grinned, letting go of her, and strode, whistling, from the house.

Colourless rabbit! How
dare
he? Trembling with rage, Gussie stalked to her bedroom and sat in front of her dressing-table mirror. Her hair no longer shimmered so that it was the envy of all her friends. It had begun to look lifeless, hanging unbrushed and uncared for. Her eyes, with their thick sweep of dark lashes, were blue-shadowed, her cheeks pale. She looked as plain as Mae. Furiously, she picked up her silver-backed hairbrush and began to brush her hair vigorously. She was Augusta Lafayette. The acknowledged belle of her friends. At Mardi Gras she had been Queen of the Carnival: and Bradley Hampton had the nerve to indicate he was doing her a favour by escorting her in public!

When Bradley arrived at the Lafayette home at nine o'clock that evening, Charles Lafayette had a companionable glass of bourbon with him and was suitably pleased when his daughter finally put in an appearance at nine-thirty.

She was wearing a deceptively simple dress with a cowl neckline that brought discreet attention to the perfection of her breasts. The skirt fell softly over her hips; she was stockingless, her sun-tanned legs gleaming, her toenails lacquered a pearly pink. Her hair hung silkily down her back, her lips glossed, her lashes mascara-ed. She smiled sweetly at her father and glared malevolently at Bradley. But Bradley was indifferent, and, bidding Gussie's father goodnight, ushered her into his Thunderbird, not even bothering to remark on her appearance.

Gussie seethed and vowed to hold on to her anger. She did, but it had no effect. Bradley was obviously intent on having a good time, whether she was or not. There were friends of his at the club that she had never seen before. Friends far more sophisticated than she had anticipated. There were women too. Beautiful and sleek, and there was no mistaking the reaction when their eyes rested on Bradley's dark good looks. It was nice to be the object of so much female envy.

Despite herself, Gussie began to enjoy the evening.

By the time it was 3 a. m. and Bradley was saying goodbye to the friends they had joined, Gussie was reluctant to leave. Bradley merely shrugged and propelled her out into the sultry night air. By the time he got Gussie home and indoors, it would be four. He didn't want to push his luck with Charles Lafayette too far.

‘That music was just great,' she said dreamily as they sped down Bourbon Street and out of the French Quarter. ‘Do you go there often?'

‘Enough.'

She slid her eyes across at him in the dark. There was a negligence about Bradley that was intensely arousing. He had made no effort to attract the attention of the girls who had flocked around him. He was making no effort with her now. He was not heading out to the darkened lakeside as any other escort would have done. She had a strange feeling that he was not even going to attempt to kiss her goodnight. Looking at his mouth as the car flashed beneath the streetlights, she felt a surge of disappointment. There was no hint of cruelty about it, as there had been about Beau's. No hardness. Bradley smiled easily and often and yet the sensuality was undeniable. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him, and then clenched her hands tightly in her lap. How
could
she think such things with Beau only dead a month? Hadn't she vowed to grieve for him until the day she died? The Thunderbird turned into the oak-lined driveway of her home and she suppressed a sigh. Secretly, though she wouldn't admit it to anyone but herself, there were moments that she forgot Beau. Tonight she hadn't thought of him for hours. Until now.

Bradley turned to her as he halted the car. Gussie stiffened. Now she would have the pleasure of proving her fidelity.

‘Goodnight, Gussie,' Bradley said, a hint of laughter in his voice as he walked round and opened her car door for her. ‘Thanks for a nice evening.'

Gussie was nonplussed. That had been
her
line, delivered archly and coldly, rocketing him to disappointment because he had been cheated of a goodnight kiss. Feeling slightly foolish she stepped on to the gravel.

‘Be seeing you,' he said, and as she walked up the steps to the bronze-hinged mahogany door, he waved casually, got back into his car and sped away as if he had been depositing a parcel.

Gussie's cheeks flamed with angry colour. He hadn't even
attempted
to kiss her. He hadn't even held her hand. What kind of boy was he? She flounced up to her room and savagely began lathering her face with cleansing cream. He wasn't a boy. He was a man. That much was clear by the way every female eye had been drawn to him at the jazz club. Then why hadn't he driven her to the darkened lake shore? Why hadn't he attempted to make love to her? Why hadn't he kissed her goodnight? Gussie climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling. He had kissed Mae. Mae had told her so. Mae had
said
that nothing further had happened, but there was no way Gussie could be completely sure. Why should Bradley want to kiss Mae and not want to kiss her? It didn't make sense.

For the first time in a month she went to sleep with her mind full of someone other than Beau.

It was two weeks before Bradley got in touch with Gussie again, two weeks in which she had begun to suffer from headaches and to feel uneasy for no reason. Often, when walking with Mae or Eden, she would suddenly swing her head round as if someone had called her name. No one ever had, and Eden and Mae would exchange silent glances. But when Bradley finally called, Gussie suddenly felt free of that nameless anxiety that so constantly beset her. Bradley wanted only to take her out for an hour, to Audubon Park. It was nowhere special – had it been anyone else she would have felt insulted – but that afternoon she enjoyed herself. They wandered beside the winding lagoons and sat on the edge of one of the fountains, enjoying the fine spray that showered their heads and shoulders. They picnicked, surrounded by flowers and with a magnificent view of the Mississippi curving lazily seaward, and the hour stretched to two and then to three. They went into the zoo and fed nuts to the monkeys and watched the graceful prowling of the Bengal tiger. When Bradley led the way back to the car she felt flooded with disappointment.

The car doors clicked shut. Bradley adjusted his driving mirror. His shirt was open at the neck and she could see the strong muscles of his chest. She had an overwhelming urge to reach out and touch his skin. Feel the warmth of his flesh next to hers. She wondered why she had so consistently refused to date him and could not quite remember. ‘I'm meeting the Shreves and Austin and Mae at Ruby Red's this evening,' Bradley said, turning to look at her. ‘Do you fancy coming?'

‘Oh yes! I'd love to!' Her eagerness had been spontaneous and unthinking. She flushed.

His white teeth flashed in a smile. ‘I'll pick you up at seven.'

‘Yes. Thank you.' She struggled to sound off-hand and fumbled for a cigarette.

He flicked his lighter and leaned across, steadying her hand.

Their eyes met. At his touch she had started to tremble. Seeing his look of intense desire, the blood burned in her veins.

‘I love you, Augusta Lafayette,' he said softly, oblivious of the families piling in and out of the cars parked around them. ‘I love you and some day I'm going to marry you.' And then he switched the car into life, sweeping out into St Charles Avenue and towards the Lafayette home before Gussie could even catch her breath.

The Shreve boys made her laugh. Mae, whose hand barely left Austin's for the whole of the evening, was overjoyed to see her. It was good to be out again; to be the centre of attention; to know that if she wanted, she could have both Don and Jason Shreve eating out of the palm of her hand. Her spine tingled with suppressed excitement. It was good to be with Bradley, too. She wondered if he'd meant what he'd said to her that afternoon. There was nothing in his manner now to indicate that he had. Desirée Ashington, the local siren, had made a bee-line for him the minute they had entered, greeting him with undue familiarity. He had not seemed to object. Even now he seemed to be enjoying her attention. Her halter top was indecently low. Gussie pretended not to notice the intimacy of their conversation but Mae's eyes were sympathetic. Desirée had even tried to add Austin's scalp to her collection. She had failed and it had been then that Mae had agreed to marry him. At last Mae knew he wasn't just going out with her until someone prettier came along. He loved her, just as he said he did.