PHANTOM IN TIME (13 page)

“I'm
only giving her fair warning,” Maria replied. “I'm a woman who should know.”

Amid
additional mirth, Jacques tugged Bella on to a balding, paunchy man of middle
years. “Bella, this is Maria's husband, Claude, our ticket manager.”

Bella
smiled at Claude, who, with his button mouth and heavy, sagging jowls, had a
long-suffering air about him. “How do you do, Mr. Fortune?”

His
expression dour, the man merely shook Bella's hand and grunted a greeting.
Jacques towed her toward a petite, dark-eyed Spanish beauty who appeared to be
in her late twenties and reflected a cool disdain in both stance and
expression.

“Bella,
this is our mezzo, Teresa Obregón.”

“Pleased
to meet you,” Bella said.

The
Spanish woman quickly, dismissively, shook Bella's hand while lifting her
aristocratic nose. She addressed Jacques. “Another chorus girl? It's so
difficult to remember all these names—the flighty creatures come and go so
quickly.” She wrinkled her nostrils at Bella. “But I suppose you and Etienne
cannot resist another pretty face.”

While
Bella silently seethed, Jacques replied smoothly, “Her voice is pretty, too,”
and pulled Bella to the next person.

Glancing
back, Bella saw Teresa staring after them in anger and repressed a shiver.

Jacques
introduced Bella to Lucy and Alfred Strauss, a pleasant thirtyish couple who
sang contralto and bass, and to Rufford Raspberry, the kindly black pianist.
The rest of the names and faces passed in a blur for Bella, until she was
introduced to the baritone, Andre Delgado.

The
dark-eyed, middle-aged Creole lifted Bella's hand to his mouth, his heavy
bristly mustache tickling the back of her hand. “Bella De La Rosa,” he
murmured. “You are every bit as beautiful as your name.”

“Spoken
by our other resident lecher,” called out Maria Fortune, and everyone laughed.

“Maria,
I must protest!” Andre retorted.

Meanwhile,
Jacques was firmly removing Bella's fingers from Andre's grasp. “Never protest
the truth, old man.”

Delgado's
cocky grin faded into a sneer, and the merriment died away as Etienne Ravel
loudly clapped his hands, drawing the group to attention. “All right, everyone,
enough dallying! Listen carefully, please. We've only three weeks to rehearse
our revue. By now, you all should have been issued your scores. Every effort
has been made to develop the most exciting and up-to-date program. We are
fortunate that our benefactor, Mr. Thurfield, recently traveled to Europe and
brought back the sheet music to “Musetta’s Waltz Song from Puccini’s wonderful
new opera,
La Boheme
. Today, we'll practice 'A Hot Time in the Old Town
Tonight,' then try an initial run through of the kaleidoscope . . . “

Hearing
the word “kaleidoscope,” Bella felt her heart gripped in a chill. Etienne's
discourse on how the contraption would work barely filtered through to her. The
fact that they would practice the kaleidoscope device here in the past, just as
she had in the present, unnerved her, although it made perfect sense. What if
she were snatched back to the present during one of the scene changes?

Still,
wasn't that just what she wanted, to return to Gran at once? But what if she
did leave? What would happen to Jacques? She eyed him standing just a few feet
beyond her, his booted feet confidently spread and his hands clasped behind his
back. He looked so handsome and full of life, and she bit her lip at the
thought of abandoning him to his fate. She felt so confused, already torn
between the present where she had lived all her life, the present where she was
desperately needed by Gran, and the past which provided its own allure and
challenges, the past where she might even be able to prevent a murder . . .

Etienne
snapped his fingers, tearing her away from her thoughts. “All right, everyone,
let's begin. Maria and Jacques, come to stage front. Members of the chorus,
gather at the rear. Mr. Raspberry, take your place at the piano, please!”

Everyone
scurried into motion, and Bella took her place near Helene at the back of the
stage. The two women exchanged smiles and whispered a greeting.

Etienne
descended to the front row of the auditorium. He scowled at the tenor and the
soprano. “Jacques and Maria, where are your props?”

“What
props?” called Jacques.

Etienne
threw up his hands.
“Sacre bleu!
I told that lazy property boy you were
supposed to have a top hat and walking stick, Maria a parasol. You need to
practice flourishing them in time with the music.” Cupping a hand around his
mouth, he yelled, “Toby Strauss, get out here!”

Bella
watched a thin lad of no more than twelve race onto the stage and skid to a
halt. He was a cute child with brown, slicked-back hair parted down the middle
and innocent though pinched features. He wore a striped shirt, suspenders, and
short pants.

“Yes,
sir?” he called to Etienne.

His
arms swinging in irritation, Etienne approached the stage. “Where in the devil are
the props for Mr. LeFevre and Mrs. Fortune?”

The
boy gulped and lowered his gaze toward the floor. “Sorry, sir. I forgot.”

Etienne's
hand sliced through the air. “Lucy and Alfred, do something about him! He
forgets everything!”

Watching
the couple rush up to scold the child, observing Toby stoically accepting their
chiding, Bella felt her heart going out to the beleaguered lad. She wondered if
Toby felt shut out of his parents' world, much as she had as a child. A moment
later, the chagrined child rushed offstage, returning momentarily with the
props.

The
run-through of “A Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight” gave Bella a creepy
feeling. The rendition seemed so similar to the number she'd rehearsed with
others in the present, only with different people. Joining in on the chorus,
she felt a distinct sense of déjà vu
.
Even the theater appeared largely
identical—especially with the same huge chandelier glittering overhead.

Etienne
stopped the music several times to issue directions, and when the conclusion of
the song finally approached, Bella felt herself tensing. When Mr. Raspberry
played the haunting refrain of “Love's Old Sweet Song” and the kaleidoscope
began to turn, spewing out showers of light just like those she'd seen in the
present, Bella's familiar dizziness returned. Her heart hammering, she again
wondered if she'd be swept away to the present. When she was able to wobble off
the stage without mishap, she wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or
disappointed.

From
the wings, she watched as Jacques and Maria practiced “Musetta's Waltz Song.”
Again Etienne stopped the singing several times to give instructions, and Bella
watched Maria touching Jacques's arm and heard her flirtatious laughter. The
woman was obviously fond of Jacques and used every opportunity to play up to
him. Indeed, during one of the pauses, Maria's husband came onstage, and she at
once shooed him away as if he were a bothersome insect. Bella watched Claude
trudge off the stage, his features set in a sullen scowl. She glanced back at Jacques,
who was grinning at Maria, and her blood boiled. Had the rogue no regard for
the sanctity of marriage—or his own safety?

***

The
balance of the day was hectic for Bella, although she continued to observe as
much as she could about the troupe and its members. When Lucy and Alfred
Strauss sang a duet, she noted that they appeared to be totally taken by each
other. In contrast, when Andre Delgado and Teresa Obregón rehearsed their duet
of Von Flotow's stirring “The Last Rose of Summer,” they hardly looked at each
other and never exchanged a word. During a break, Bella remarked about this to
Helene, who told her Andre and Teresa had once been lovers, but they had been
separated for years now due to some tiff.

Later,
Bella came across the Spanish beauty flirting with Jacques in the corridor, her
shapely hand perched on his shoulder, her eyelashes fluttering rapidly. Sensing
at once why Teresa had rejected Andre, Bella silently seethed and briskly moved
on. With his back turned to her, Jacques hadn't spotted her. Would the
shameless devil have cared if he had? Was
every
woman in this troupe in
love with him? Which one of them would murder him?

Perhaps
she
would! Bella laughed at the thought, until she saw its more sobering
logic . . .

When
the rehearsal dispersed around five o'clock, Helene joined Bella as she was
leaving the stage. “Well, looks like you really caught someone's eye today,”
she teased.

“If
you're referring to Jacques LeFevre, I'm sure his eyes are far too busy roving
elsewhere to take notice of me,” Bella replied.

Helene
laughed. “Ready to go home?”

“She's
not going anywhere with you, Helene,” a familiar masculine voice interjected.
“And she's deluded if she assumes I've taken no note of her.”

Both
women gasped and turned to see Jacques standing behind them, grinning
confidently.

“Jacques,
you devil!” exclaimed Helene. “You've been eavesdropping on us!”

Jacques's
expression was unrepentant as he glanced from Bella to Helene. “But this is a
public place,
ma
chère.”

Helene
tapped Bella's arm. “Didn't I warn you about him?”

“Yes,
you did.”

Jacques
stared straight at Bella. “May I speak with your friend alone, Helene?”

Lips
twitching, Helene hesitated for a moment, watching Bella and Jacques regard
each other tensely. Then she shrugged. “Sure. See you later, Bella.”

“Wait,
Helene!” Bella protested. But she was too late, as her friend had already
sailed away. She turned, seething, at the sound of Jacques's laughter. “Mr.
LeFevre, you and I have nothing further to discuss.”

His
dark eyes mocked her. “Oh, Bella, I disagree. You and I have only begun.”

She
glowered. “You'll have to excuse me.”

He
stepped around her, easily blocking her path. “But I won't. I want you to come
with me to dinner.”

Bella's
mouth dropped open. “Why, of all the arrogance! You must be joking!”

“No,
not at all,” he replied smoothly. “I want to take show you our fair city. You
are a newcomer to l
a belle
New Orleans, are you not?”

“In
a manner of speaking,” she conceded.

“Then
allow me to educate you in our ways here.”

“No,
thank you.” She laughed humorlessly. “The kind of education you have in mind
interests me not in the least.”

Fighting
a smirk, he touched her arm. “What are you afraid of, Bella? That I'll ravish
you? Or are you still jealous because I favor chorus girls with my kisses?”

“Chorus
girls?” Bella mocked. “Heavens, let's not stop with chorus girls. From what
I've seen and heard, you, sir, are eager to grant your 'favors' to every woman
in this theater—and likely in the city as well.”

Smiling
sheepishly, Jacques rubbed the back of his neck. “What can I say? Is it my
fault no woman can resist me?”

She
shot him a frosty look. “This woman can, Mr. LeFevre.”

“Then
what have you to fear from spending the evening with me?” he teased back. He
stepped closer, tempting her with his vibrant nearness, his tantalizing scent,
and the gleam of mischief in his eyes. “Come out with me, Bella, or I'll pine
away and die of a broken heart.”

Bella
was about to issue a crisp rejoinder, but the word “die” gave her pause. Oh,
Lord, she thought, gazing at his handsome, cynically amused face. This man
might be a rogue and a womanizer, but he could be dead in a month's time unless
she did something. As long as she was here, wasn't it her duty to at least try
to save him from his fate?

“Very
well, Mr. LeFevre,” she replied. “I'll join you. But only for dinner.”

Jacques's
triumphant grin as he took Bella's arm suggested that he didn't believe her for
a moment.

Chapter Thirteen

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A
black driver maneuvered the clarence coach through the Quarter in the mellow
light of late afternoon. Inside, Bella and Jacques sat across from each other
on posh blue velvet seats.  With the walls of the conveyance shielding the
seats from public view, the two were ensconced in virtual privacy. From the
streets, Bella could hear a banjo strumming the strains of “Dixie,” along with
the sounds of vendors calling out, trolley bells clanging, carriages rattling
past. Leaning forward toward the window, she viewed a seamier block of Royal
Street, and spotted several derelict men standing in the doorway of a
storefront mission while a discordant refrain of “Rescue the Perishing” spilled
out from the interior.

Sitting
back, she caught Jacques gazing at her intently, and her heart did a flip-flop.
Her host looked very rakish in his black suit, a hint of ruffled shirtfront
peeking out from his jacket. He was indeed a handsome devil, his hair shiny and
thick, the lines of his angular face so perfectly cut that he could have passed
for a movie star back in the present. His long, lean legs were crossed, giving
her a glimpse of shiny black boot leather. The absorbed way he was staring at
her—as if she were some delicacy he was burning to devour—unsettled and excited
her more than she cared to admit. She couldn't believe she had consented to go
out with him—he was clearly both sexy and dangerous.

Did
she fear her own response to him as much as she feared him? Probably. Yet she
knew she'd never be able to help him if she avoided getting to know him.

Should
she tell him about the threat to his life, tell him where she’d come from? She
considered the possibility and quickly dismissed it. If she told him she'd
traveled through time, he'd likely not believe her, and she could hardly
convince him to practice caution if he assumed she was a lunatic.