Kane (29 page)

“Did he give a reason?”

“He felt I wasn't being as effective as I might have been.”

“Was he correct?”

“I—Yes, I suppose so.”

“Why was that?”

She avoided his gaze, noticing instead the faintly arrogant tilt of his head, the slope of his strong neck into the width of his shoulders, the careless familiarity
of the way he wore his suit, as a soldier might wear a uniform. She said finally, “I was disturbed by the tactics he was using, particularly as carried out by Dudley Slater. Also, I had begun to grow fond of—of Mr. Crompton. It made me ashamed of what I had been doing.”

He pushed away from the rail. “But you didn't remain in New York. In fact, you arrived back in Turn-Coupe again within forty-eight hours. Why was that?”

“I needed help. I thought I might exchange personal services or information I had about Berry Association, Inc. for aid in freeing my son from Gervis's control.”

“Was this exchange made?”

“In a manner of speaking,” she affirmed, though her voice turned traitor again, almost disappearing. “I was helped to physically remove Stephan from New York and bring him to Louisiana.”

“After which, in spite of your own exhaustion, you spent hours at the side of the man who was injured during the course of this rescue. Why did you do that?”

“Gratitude,” she said with a helpless gesture, though she refused to look at him.

“And is that all?” he demanded, swinging closer again to add in warning, “Remember that you are under oath to tell the exact truth.”

She saw what he wanted. It was simple, really. He wasn't going to be satisfied with anything less than her complete confession.

Fine. The trial would be over soon, and she would be gone. What would anything matter then?

It could even be argued that she owed him this
pound of flesh. He had saved Stephan for her and been hurt in the process. He had nullified Gervis's threat. He had even prevented Slater from attacking her before sending the little man packing. He had been there when she needed him, had given back to her more than he had taken. If he wanted public restitution, then he would have it.

In fact, he was going to get more than he bargained for.

“Well?” he demanded as she hesitated.

“No,” she said, her voice tight, “that isn't all.”

“What else?” His gaze was intent, his mouth set in a straight line as he watched her.

She squared her shoulders and gave her head a defiant tilt. Speaking distinctly, she said, “I fell in love.”

“With whom?” he demanded above the whispering from the crowd behind him. “Whom did you love?”

Her lips curled upward at one corner. “Lewis Crompton's grandson, Kane Benedict. I fell in love with you and will never care for another man in the same way as long as I live.”

For a single instant, heat flared in his eyes, then his lashes swept down, wiping away all expression. Ignoring the tide of conjecture that washed around them both, he looked toward the judge. In firm tones, he said, “I have no more questions for this witness.”

Turning on his heel, he walked away.

 

The verdict in the trial was reached a week later. It was for the plaintiff, Lewis Crompton.

Regina was not in court when it came in, but caught the news on television in her Turn-Coupe motel room where she had retreated from the stares and whispers.
She immediately turned up the volume, then sat perfectly still as the familiar faces of Melville Brown and the other lawyers flashed on the screen. Melville was in fine form, calling the decision a consumer victory as well as one for his client. He also pointed out that it said good things about race relations in the South that a jury made up primarily of African-Americans could decide in favor of a white man against Northeastern interests.

Gervis's team of lawyers was not so complimentary. Its leader claimed he and his team had been placed at a disadvantage by the archaic and unique Louisiana judicial and legal system and blindsided by the tactics of the plaintiff's team of counselors. He maintained, as well, that the jury had failed to understand the broader implication of open-market competition between rival funeral service operations.

The jury foreman, a black computer engineer who had lived for years in Detroit before moving back to his grandmother's home in Louisiana, returned that disdain in kind. The high-powered lawyers from the East, he said, had miscalculated. They had expected to overawe the small Southern law firm ranged against them with the weight of their importance while using race politics to obscure the issues and conceal the crimes of their client. By the time they'd discovered their mistake, it was too late.

Gervis had no comment to make on the case, but was shown flapping his hand at the cameras and microphones in his face, then jumping into a limousine and being whisked away. Lewis Crompton said a courtly few words, giving full credit to the perspicuity of the jury and praising his law team.

As Kane's face flashed on the screen, Regina grabbed the remote and switched the TV to a cartoon channel for Stephan. She didn't want to see Kane's image, didn't want to hear his voice. She really couldn't stand it.

No word had come from him the day she left the courtroom; none had come since. She never expected to see or have contact with him again, which was exactly the way she wanted it.

If the trial was officially over, then she was free to leave. Regina jumped up immediately and began gathering the few belongings she and Stephan had accumulated. Taking the shirts and pants, skirts and blouses from drawers, she folded them into the discount-store suitcase she had bought.

“Mama?” Stephan said, sitting up on the side of the bed where he had been sprawled out playing with a book of Batman stickers. “Are we going somewhere?”

“Yes, sweetheart, we have to.”

“Where?”

“I don't really know yet, just somewhere.”

She had thought of New Orleans, or maybe South Florida. It didn't make a lot of difference so long as it was far away from Turn-Coupe. They would get into her rental car, she and Stephan, and just drive, turning right or left at the stoplights as whim moved them. It might be best, in fact, to have no set destination. If she had none for herself, then there was less likelihood of Gervis's finding her.

Stephan kicked his feet, staring at his toes. “I like it here.”

“That's because Miss Betsy has been spoiling you.”

“I like Miss Betsy, too,” he said in quiet stubbornness.

“So do I.” She smiled at his bowed head, thinking at the same time of how easily he had fallen into using the Southern titles of respect. She had developed a certain appreciation for them, as well, since it appeared that the respect itself often followed the form. There was much else she could have appreciated, she knew, given the opportunity, but there was no chance of it. The sooner they both faced it, the better.

Regina picked up a dirty sock from beside the bed and tossed it at the suitcase, then sat down beside her son. She took his small, square hand in hers, smoothing it, rubbing at the rough cuticles. Before she could put what she wanted to say into words, however, there came a knock at the door.

It was Betsy who stood there. “Hi, hon,” she said cheerfully, then looked beyond her to wave at Stephan. “Hello there, sport. Hate to bother you, Regina, but I had a call from Mr. Lewis. He said would you mind giving him a ring.”

The call had not come to Regina because she had unplugged the phone after several requests from reporters for interviews about her affair with Kane. Now she said, “Oh, I don't know. I was just—”

“You're leaving, right?” Betsy looked toward the open suitcase on the bed behind Regina. “I told Mr. Lewis you might be. He said would you stop by at least a few minutes before you take off.”

“I suppose I could do that.” It was the last thing
she wanted, but she had little right to deny whatever he asked.

“Good,” Betsy said as she turned to leave. “I'll let him know you're coming.”

If it had not been for that assurance, Regina might have decided against going after all. The idea of Mr. Lewis watching and waiting for her while she drove off in the other direction didn't sit well, however, so she turned toward Hallowed Ground. It was only as she pulled into the driveway that she realized she had never once thought of the wasted time involved in the visit. She had apparently begun to think like a Southerner, now that it was too late.

Mr. Lewis was at the rear of the house, working in the garden near the carriage house. He waved her around to the back parking apron, then took her inside through the kitchen door. Dora met them there, then enticed Stephan into stopping in her kitchen for the gingerbread man she had made just for him. Mr. Lewis ushered Regina into the sitting room next to the parlor with a promise that warm gingerbread and tea for her would be forthcoming.

“I really can't stay,” she said in protest as she took the seat he indicated.

“I know, and I'm more sorry than I can say that you're leaving us. I'd hoped for a different outcome. But I did want to give you a small token of my gratitude before you go.”

As he spoke, he picked up a box covered with worn velvet from a side table and held it out to her. She made no move to take it. “You have no reason to be grateful to me.”

“I disagree. Without your generosity in sharing
your knowledge of Berry's activities, my case would not have been so handily won. This geegaw once meant a great deal to my wife, and I'm certain she'd be happy to think someone owned it who could appreciate its value. Please?”

He opened the box this time as he pressed it on her. Regina looked down at what it held and was startled into silence. The necklace that glittered up at her was a mid-Victorian piece with bloodred stones holding a purplish tint that identified them as Bohemian almandine garnets. The workmanship was exquisite, an intricate gold-over-brass design of delicate flowers and medallions surrounding a perfect Georgian cross.

“It's lovely, truly beautiful,” she said in soft acknowledgment as she touched it with a single reverent fingertip, “but far too valuable to give away out of your family.”

His smile was wry. “Not at all. No one could deserve it more than you. Garnets, you know, are said to represent truth, constancy and faith.”

“And you think I need those things, I see.” She could feel the heat of a flush spreading upward from her neckline.

“By no means,” he said in stern repudiation. “I think you have them already. Good Lord, have you no idea what you've done for this family? You shook up my grandson, knocked him out of his cynic's self-absorption and made him and his old granddad see that being afraid of getting hurt is no way to live. You taught us that the truth is a two-edged sword, that it's possible to learn more of it than you want to know. You kept me from being swallowed by a corporate
python, gave me back my heritage and my trade. And that's only the beginning.”

“I had my reasons, selfish reasons,” she answered. “Besides, I didn't do any of it by myself.”

“We all have our reasons, something I hope you'll remember next time someone needs a second chance. And none of us ever really acts alone.”

Just then, Dora appeared in the doorway with a tea tray in her hand. Her face was as serious as her voice as she said, “Mr. Kane's coming up the drive.”

Regina gave a low cry and sprang to her feet. “I have to go. Where is Stephan?”

“Stay, please. You and Kane should talk.”

“I don't think so. There's nothing left to say.”

“You may feel that way, but I don't believe—”

“No!” She moved swiftly toward the door, wondering if she could escape the back way before Kane realized she was there.

“I think it's too late, my dear. You'll have to face him. Unless you'd like to stay out of sight until he's gone?”

She hesitated, glancing toward the front windows. Beyond the curtains, she could see Kane already getting out of his car. With an abrupt nod, she said, “If you don't mind, that would be perfect.”

“In here, then.” He indicated the front parlor. To Dora, he said, “Take that tea tray away, will you? And keep Stephan as quiet as you can. Oh, and give us a second before you open the door, all right?”

Regina didn't pause to hear the housekeeper's answer, but slipped into the parlor, glancing around for a place to hide for a few minutes. She was considering
the space behind the front curtain when Mr. Lewis followed her into the room.

“No, no,” he said hurriedly as he strode to the antique coffin that had started it all and pulled a footstool forward to act as a step. “In here.”

It was the last thing she wanted, but there was no time to argue. The doorbell was ringing in a sharp, imperious command. Regina climbed into the box and lay down, tucking her skirt around her knees. Mr. Lewis closed the lid and the latch clicked into place.

Panic swept over her in a wave. Locked in. Dark, smothering, dusty closeness, as black, airless and quiet as the grave. How could she have forgotten? How had she let herself be rushed into this again?

It was insane. It was also undignified and downright chickenhearted. She should face Kane instead of hiding. If she could just find and release the trip latch as he had that first day, she would do that after all.

She felt for the metal closure. Her fingertips brushed it, and she zeroed in on the mechanism, feeling for the way to release it. Surely it couldn't be too difficult since it wasn't really designed to keep people locked inside. With the promise of freedom in sight, her breathing eased.

Then she heard the baritone rumble of Kane's voice. She went perfectly still.

“Betsy said Regina was here. Don't tell me she's gone already?”

“You see her anywhere?” Mr. Lewis asked. His voice came from just outside the double parlor doors, as if Kane had caught him as he emerged.